The Lone Wolf
by Malcolm Xavier
Summary: At Harrenhal, a strange man learns a lone wolf's secret. In King's Landing, the Lannisters prepare for the coming battle with Stannis Baratheon. In the North, two princes learn that Krakens are not the only beasts roaming Winterfell. Elsewhere, spiders spin their webs and mockingbirds sing their songs. In Essos, a one-eyed man finds a dragon. And winter is coming...
1. Arya I

**AN:** Well, for better or worse, I had so much fun writing my first ASOIAF fanfic, that I've decided to take a stab at another one (sorry, George). Despite being a completely different story, it will be similar to Winter has Come in certain respects. As always spoilers abound for all five books and all five seasons. There are also aspects of book cannon and aspects of show cannon in this story and when in doubt, I went with what worked best (ex: I used the show's character ages, but the Bloody Mummers are characters in the story). Additionally, this is going to be another "loads and loads of characters" story.

I own nothing. I give all the credit in the world to George R.R. Martin, D&D, Bryan Cogman, Vanessa Taylor, Jane Espenson, Dave Hill, Maisie Williams (first among equals in the best ensemble ever), Peter Dinklage, Jack Gleeson, Michael McElhatton, and everyone else who has done so much to bring this incredible world to life. I hope you enjoy this story and as always, please let me know what you think of it whether it be positive, negative, or somewhere in between!  
_

 **Arya**

 _He doesn't know_ , Arya decided as she stared at the heads that had lined Harrenhal's walls ever since her brother's bannermen captured the fortress. They'd been dipped in tar to slow the rot, but that hadn't kept away the crows and it was already impossible to say who most of them had belonged too. Arya could still recognize Maester Tothmure's head...even though the crows had already taken his eyes. _Robb couldn't know about what the Bloody Mummers are doing. He'd make them stop if he did. He'll punish them for it when I tell him though. Them and stupid Lord Bolton._

"Admiring your work," asked a voice from behind her. Arya turned and saw Gendry scowling at her. He'd been like this ever since Walton Steelshanks took off the head of his old master at the armory, Lucan. It was the same with Hot Pie only he wouldn't even look at her anymore. She couldn't decide whether it was worse if he was doing that because he was afraid of her or because he hated her. _He's too scared of the stupid bloody man on my chest to tell me how much he hates me. He probably does though...just like everyone else,_ Arya thought to herself sadly.

"It wasn't my fault! Walton Steelshanks killed Lucan and the Bloody Mummers were the ones who killed Maester Tothmure. My brother will make them stop when he finds out, you'll see."

"Your brother gave the order, more like. None of you bloody highborns have ever cared what happens to the rest of us. Don't see why your brother would be any different. And you was the one what gave us Lord Bolton and the rest of this lot." _I care..._

"That's not fair! And Ser Amory –"

"So we traded Ser Amory, the Tickler, and the Bloody Mummers for Lord Bolton, Walton Steelshanks, and the Bloody Mummers. Lannister and Stark, Bolton and Baratheon, you're all the same far as I'm concerned. At least Ser Amory didn't let Biter eat his prisoners. Vargo Hoat cut off a little girl's feet and then threw her into the bear pit this morning for bringing him four pieces of breakfast bacon instead of three. And Urswyck says that when the Bloody Mummers run out of heads, they'll start mounting our hands and feet on the walls, so don't be telling me how much better things are now that your brother's bannermen are here."

"Things were worse under Ser Amory. And Robb doesn't know about what Lord Bolton and the Bloody Mummers are doing to the smallfolk, stupid."

"So the King in the North has no idea what his own bannermen are doing, is that it? I bet your brother told Lord Bolton to have the Bloody Mummers chop of everyone's feet until there were no smallfolk left in Harrenhal from when the Lannisters was here." _Gendry is just being stupid because he's angry about Lucan. Robb would never let the Bloody Mummers or his bannermen cut off people's feet for no reason_ , Arya told herself, hoping it was true.

"Shut up!"

"I forgot I'm talking to a highborn lady with a bloody man on her chest. You're now enjoying Lord Bolton's table scraps and serving him his wine, aren't you? The Bloody Mummers and the rest won't hurt you so long as you're his cupbearer and even if they did, all you'd have to do is tell Lord Bolton who you are and you'd be back with your brother and the rest of your highborn family in Winterfell. Who cares if everyone else here dies, we're just smallfolk, right? All that matters is that you highborns are happy, just like always. Your brother is no different than Joffrey, far as I can –"

"SHUT UP," Arya shouted, shoving Gendry as hard as she could. _That was stupid. Someone might hear or see us and then Vargo Hoat will cut off both of our hands._.. _or Lord Bolton will send us to Qyburn._ Arya shuddered and tried not to think about what would happen to her if she was sent to Harrenhal's rookery. No one knew what Qyburn did in there to make people scream the way they did, but Arya knew that she didn't want to find out.

As much as she hated to admit it, the truth was that Gendry was right about things being worse since Harrenhal fell. Some of the Lannister men got what they deserved, like Ser Amory did when Vargo Hoat fed him to a bear, but most of the dead men didn't do anything...not really. The Lannisters would've given anyone who refused to serve them to the Bloody Mummers or the Tickler. The last head mounted on Harrenhal's northern wall had even belonged to a little boy who was killed for biting Utt to try to stop the Septon from holding him down and taking him.

"I'll go," snapped Gendry, "but don't be pretending your family cares any more about the likes of me than the Lannisters do. Give me a forge, a meal a day, and a long summer, and you lot can do whatever you want for all I care so long as you leave the rest of us alone...not that you lot ever do. I bet even if your brother's bannermen knew who you are and you told them to stop hacking off hands and feet, nothing would change."

"It would so!"

"Would not!"

"Would so!"

"Fine, go tell Lord Bolton. I bet he'll show you an order from your brother saying to put all the smallfolk here to the sword for serving Lannisters."

"He will not!"

"Go on then, m'lady. Run along and prove it."

"Fine, I will! And I'm not a Lady, stupid."

"Could've fooled me, boy."

"I'm a girl."

"You're a highborn girl, but not a proper Lady? Is that what m'lady means?"

"Yes, I mean – I told you to stop calling me that."

"Or what? Will m'lady run to Lord Bolton and ask him to have my tongue out? I beg your forgiveness, m'lady."

"I said shut up, you...you big stupid!"

"What's a big stupid?"

"You are, now go away," snapped Arya, as she stormed off.

"Bloody highborns," Gendry muttered bitterly.

...

Gendry's words continued to haunt Arya as she made her way to Ser Robett Glover's chambers. _He probably hates me too, just like Hot Pie and everyone else. He has stop being mad about Lucan someday. It wasn't even my fault anyway...not really. He'll forgive me eventually. Him and Hot Pie both will...maybe. He's just a big, stupid, stubborn old bull._ Even if he was part of her pack, Gendry could be the most frustrating person in the world sometimes. _How can one person possibly be so stubborn about everything?_

 _Stupid bull. I'll show him! He'll see! I'll tell Ser Robett who I am and he'll make Lord Bolton and the stupid Bloody Mummers stop cutting off everyone's feet._ Even if she couldn't trust Lord Bolton, Ser Robett had never been cruel to anyone at Harrenhal and he behaved far more like one of her brother's bannermen should than Lord Bolton ever did. _Gendry won't be so stubborn tomorrow_ , Arya thought to herself with the smallest of smiles before nearly walking right into Ser Robett.

"Best watch where you're going, girl. Wouldn't want to bump into that damn Goat," said Ser Robett. Everyone in Harrenhal knew that Vargo Hoat and Ser Robett hated each other almost as much as Vargo and Ser Amory did...or maybe it was just that everyone hated the Goat of Harrenhal.

"I –"

"No need to beg my forgiveness, girl. I won't hurt you."

"No...I mean...thank you, but..." Arya suddenly realized that she never actually thought about how she should tell Ser Robett her secret. _What should I say? Will he even believe me? Should I just say it or try to explain first?_ Arya bit her lip.

"Thank you, Ser. Very well, what else? You're Lord Bolton's cupbearer, aren't you? The one who made that soup? What does your master want? Be quick about it, girl, I don't have all day. Is Lord Bolton holding a meeting of some sort? I swear by the Old Gods and the New, if he forces me to endure one more of those damned things while he sits in a tub covered with leeches, I'll –"

"Lord Bolton doesn't need you for anything...Ser."

"In that case, it would seem that we have nothing more to discuss. Run along back to your master, girl." _Wait, where are you going? Don't leave!_

"But –"

"My patience is not without limits, girl. Another word and Lord Bolton will hear about –"

"I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell."

For a moment, Ser Robett looked as though he'd seen a ghost. He studied her silently although he looked more confused than anything else.

"What...what did you say, girl?"

"I said I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell. I escaped from King's Landing and...please, you have to help me get back to King Robb and my mother."

"I...I...have...I have to what? Whatt did you just say?"

"For the last time, I said I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell. I need you to help me find my family and make the Bloody Mummers stop cutting off everyone's feet." Suddenly, a flash of anger appear on Ser Robett's face and Arya knew she'd made a mistake. _He doesn't believe me._ Before she could run away, the knight grabbed her right arm and held it so tightly that it was impossible to escape.

"I don't know what in the Seven Hells you think you're doing, girl, but you'll regret it. I can promise you that much," snapped Ser Robett.

"No, my name is Arya Stark. Really, I...I can prove it. I know all about Winterfell, the crypt, Old Nan, Hodor, and –"

"What the fuck is a Hodor?" _Maybe Ser Robett's never even been to Winterfell before. He's just some stupid knight, not a Lord. And he's probably never seen me before besides,_ Arya realized as Ser Robett tightened his grip on her arm.

"Please, you're hurting me," Arya shouted, fighting back tears. _I will not cry. I am a direwolf. Direwolves don't cry._

"We'll just see what Lord Bolton has to say about all of this," said Ser Robett coldly, dragging her along the ground by the arm. _No! No! No! No! Not Him! He'll send me to Qyburn and... Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Not today! Not Today! Not Today!_

"Please, I'm sorry, I –"

"Not as sorry as you're about to be, girl. Now if I hear one more word from you, I'll knock you out cold, do you understand?" Arya nodded and began chewing her lip as Ser Robett dragged her through Harrenhal.

...

When Ser Glover stormed into Lord Bolton's solar, still dragging Arya behind him, the Leech Lord was sitting at his desk writing a message of some sort. He calmly raised his head and studied them, looking as though nothing could have bored him half so much as the sight before him. After ten painful seconds, he spoke in a voice as soft as a whisper.

"Ser Robett, it would seem that you have managed to apprehend my cupbearer. I commend you for what was, I trust, a hard-earned victory. Lord Vargo would have considered the task beyond your abilities, I think."

"That bloody goat can think whatever the fuck he likes for all I care."

"As you say. Now then, tell me, why have you seen fit to grace me with your presence. I am quite certain that I have no need of it at the moment."

"My Lord, your cupbearer is telling some of the most wretched lies that I've ever heard. She claims to be Arya Stark and demanded that I take her to her family. She even tried to order me to make your pet goat stop maiming prisoners."

"It would seem the two of you are in agreement on that matter, Ser."

"My Lord?" Ser Robett was plainly confused and that was good. Arya knew that Lord Bolton seemed to enjoy making knights like Ser Robett and the Freys uncomfortable for some reason. _Maybe Ser Robett will forget about me and...no, that's stupid. And even if he did, Lord Bolton won't forget._

The Lord of the Dreadfort was staring directly at her, even when he spoke to Ser Robett and that was bad. It was almost as though his cold, blue eyes were staring directly into her soul. You never wanted Lord Bolton to look at you the way he was looking at her...not even for a second. Everyone who she'd ever seen him look at that way had been given to Qyburn, but Arya never broke eye contact with the Leech Lord. _Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"Yes, yes, you are quite right, Ser. It simply wouldn't do to have an impostor running around claiming to be Arya Stark, would it?"

"I'm not lying, my Lord. I –"

"Shut up," snapped Ser Robett. "I'll not have you disrespecting Ned Stark's memory and the pain House Stark has suffered by breathing another word of this filth. Arya Stark is dead, everyone knows that. The Lannisters killed her when they seized the Throne."

"But –" Ser Robett slapped Arya in the face with the back of his right hand, knocking her to the ground.

"Tell me, Ser, do you make a habit of striking little girls?"

"Lord Bolton, do you mean to tell me that after everything you've let that little shit of a goat do to the prisoners here, you can't stomach the sight of a well-deserved slap? Your House's sigil is a bloody flayed man." Lord Bolton's lips curled upward into what might've been a smile. Arya shuddered. Somehow, the thought of the Leech Lord smiling was more frightening than the way he had been looking at her a moment ago.

"You may slap anyone you please, Ser. It matters not at all. You may slap every little girl in Harrenhal if you wish...only not this one. The girl is my cupbearer, my servant, and my property until such time as I depart from Harrenhal. I shall discipline her as I see fit. I believe you are familiar with how I punish those who displease me, are you not?"

"Of course, my Lord, only...despite what she has done, the girl is only a child and..." Lord Bolton began looking at Ser Robett the same way he looked at people right before he sent them to Qyburn and the knight fell silent. As the Leech Lord continued to silently stare at Ser Robett, the knight broke eye contact and began to shift about uncomfortably. _He's afraid of Lord Bolton too_ , Arya realized.

"You are to gather all of your men and ride for Duskendale immediately. Harrion Karstark and Ser Helman Tallhart will accompany you. We will strike at the heart of the Crownlands. Are there any objections, Ser," asked Lord Bolton in a voice so soft that Arya could barely hear him.

"No, my Lord."

"Good. Now, leave us. I believe my cupbearer and I have some matters to attend to, don't we, girl?" Arya nodded and began chewing her lip. Ser Robett left the room and closed the door. _Not today! Not today! Not today!_

 _..._

"Ser Robett tells me that you are pretending to be Arya Stark. What am I to make of this?"

"I...I..."

"Yes, you. Go on, girl, explain yourself. I could always have your tongue out, since you don't seem to be using it."

"I...yes, my Lord. My name...I'm Arya Stark of Winterfell."

"And tell me, Arya Stark of Winterfell, how is it that you came to be here?"

"I escaped from King's Landing when the Lannisters started killing everyone. Yoren was supposed to bring me to Winterfell. He cut my hair and told me to pretend I was a boy."

"Yoren?"

"Yoren was a member of the Night's Watch who was bringing prisoners to the Wall. He...he was a friend of my brother, Jon."

"Hmm. And where is this Yoren now?"

"Ser Amory killed him when he captured me."

"Does anyone else know who you are?"

"No, my Lord." _He might hurt Gendry and Hot Pie if I tell him about them._

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you, girl?" Lord Bolton began staring at her again, but Arya looked him directly in the eye, just like the first time. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"No, my Lord."

"That was a lie. Being lied to displeases me. But you are Arya Stark, that much is certain."

"How did –"

"I always knew that you were highborn. The smallfolk say m'lord, not my Lord. I assumed you were the daughter of some Riverlord and made you my cupbearer because that soup of yours amused me, but you have the Stark look. A blind man could see that much. When Ser Robett told me what you said to him, it was plain that . Of course, our fine friend from Deepwood Motte was too big a fool to realize what a valuable thing he had in his possession. Most men don't look with their eyes, they only see what they expect to see."

"Syrio, my dancing master, he said the same thing."

"Your dancing master was right. Now then, you will remain under my supervision at all times. You will sleep in a room across from my chambers which I will lock from the outside every night. This is for your own safety. It would not serve for one of the Bloody Mummers to kill you before I have a chance to return you to your brother. And not even I can say what they would do if they found out who you really were..."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Tell me, my Lady, why didn't you tell anyone who you were when Harrenhal fell?"

"Not everyone who sounds friendly is a friend. I wasn't going to tell Ser Robett who I was, only...I thought he might make the Bloody Mum...I mean...the Brave Companions stop cutting off people's feet or at least make Biter stop eating people. And I'm not a Lady."

"Clever girl. My son Domeric learned that lesson the hard way. It nearly cost him his life."

"What happened?"

"Mayhaps I will tell you some day. Oh and one more thing, when I do return you to your family, promise me that you will tell your mother what Ser Robett did to you today. Your brother will see to it that he never hurts you again, I think. Or anyone else, for that matter."

"Yes, my Lord. I promise," replied Arya, allowing herself a small smile at the thought of what Robb would do to Ser Robett. _If not everyone who sounds friendly is a friend, doesn't that mean that not everyone who sounds dangerous is an enemy?_ Lord Bolton did send people to Qyburn, but maybe he only sent bad people to the rookery.Arya realized that she had only actually seen him send some of the captured Lannister men like Raff the Sweetling to the rookery. _He won't hurt me, but I still can't trust him...not really_ , Arya decided.

"Good. That will be all, girl. I require silence while I work. You'd best have a seat, I expect you'll be spending quite a bit of time in here. We will speak more tomorrow, if you wish." _I'll show that stupid, stubborn old bull! Lord Bolton will make the Bloody Mummers stop cutting off people's feet if I tell him my brother would want them to leave the smallfolk alone_ , Arya told herself, and for just a moment, the Leech Lord didn't look quite so scary.

"Lord Bolton?"

"Yes?"

"Is...is Robb winning the war?" For a moment, the Leech Lord silently stared at her. "Everyone always says ladies shouldn't ask about such things," Arya muttered bitterly.

"I thought you weren't a Lady? It matters not at all. Anyone who cares more about songs and stitches than the war going on around us is a fool. In truth, most people are fools, just like our friend from Deepwood Motte."

"Everyone always liked Sansa best because she was a proper Lady. She knew all the songs, her needlework was perfect, and everyone was always saying how beautiful she was. My mother probably doesn't even want me back because my stitches were always crooked."

"Probably not. But she is wrong, I think. You're not a proper Lady, but mayhaps that is why you made it this far while your sister is still a hostage in King's Landing."

"The Lannisters still have Sansa?"

"Yes. As for the war, your brother is winning the war against the Lannisters in the Riverlands. Of course, the war in the North is another matter entirely. What happened at Winterfell was rather...unfortunate. That will be all for today, girl. I have work to do and you will be silent until it is finished. You're not going to make me say that a third –"

"The war in the North? What happened at Winterfell? Are Bran and Rickon alright? What about my mother? Please, you have to tell me." _They have to be alive! Robb would never let the stupid Lannisters attack Winterfell. Never!_

"I have to tell you. You presume to give me commands, do you," asked the Leech Lord, suddenly looking as though he had decided to give her to Qyburn after all. _He won't hurt me now that he knows who I am. He can't; he's one of Robb's bannermen. He just...likes scaring people is all. But he'd have probably given me to Qyburn when I was just his cupbearer. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"Very well. I will indulge you this once, but from now on, you will mind your tongue when you speak to me. Lady Catelyn is alive and well, as far as I know. She is with your brother, most like. They will have arrived at Riverrun by now, I think. Your brother recently destroyed an entire Lannister army in the Westerlands and yet some men have taken to calling him the King Who Lost the North ever since the Iron Born seized Winterfell."

"The Iron Born?"

"Yes. Your brother sent Theon Greyjoy to treat with his father, Lord Balon. He thought the Iron Born would lend their fleet to our cause if we helped them win their independence. Instead, the treasonous whore led an attack on the North and captured Winterfell." _Why would Theon attack Winterfell?_ Arya had always hated him and he was almost as cruel to her as Jeyne Poole had been, but he was like a brother to Robb. _And how would he ever take Winterfell, even if he'd wanted to?_ When Arya called someone stupid, it normally just meant that she didn't like them or that she was mad at them, but she'd once asked her father why Theon could say more than one word even though he was soft in the head like Hodor. She'd tried sheep-shifting Theon's bed, but he was always too drunk to care about the smell and never noticed until the next day. _How could someone like that ever take Winterfell?_

"What about Bran and Rickon?" _Theon...he wouldn't hurt them...would he?_

"What about them?"

"They were at Winterfell and..."

"And you want to know about the fate that has befallen your brothers. Is that it, girl?"

"Yes."

"Are you certain of this?" Arya nodded, chewing her lip nervously.

"Very well. It brings me no pleasure to tell you this, girl. Mayhaps your mother or your brother should be the one to tell you. No, no, I suppose you have a right to know. *sigh* How can I put this? I would hate to drag this out and yet one must be delicate when speaking of such things, don't you think?"

"Please, just tell me! What happened to them?"

"As you wish. I *sigh* have no idea whether your brothers are dead or alive. In truth, there has been no word from Winterfell since it fell. Your brothers may be hostages or two more dead little boys. Fear not though, your brother has charged me with retaking Winterfell and while my son's presence is required at the Dreadfort, I have instructed my bastard to raise a host. If your brothers are still alive, I have no doubt that Ramsay will save them from the Iron Born. And if they're dead...well...I imagine you'll be the first to know."


	2. Tyrion I

**Tyrion**

 _She can't truly believe that I would send Myrcella to Dorne if there were even a possibility that doing so would place her in any danger. It's for her own safety_ , Tyrion thought to himself as _Seaswift_ vanished into the distance. For all that his sister hated him, Tyrion didn't understand how she could possibly be mad enough to believe that he would ever harm his own flesh and blood. _And why Myrcella?_ That was the strangest part. _One would think that my sweet sister would have taken more comfort in the fact that neither she nor father managed to make a kinslayer of me. What might Cersei do, if she actually thinks that I mean to harm her children..._ Tyrion liked that thought not at all.

 _I doubt she would ever actually try to have me killed, even if the thought has no doubt crossed her mind. Father mayhaps, but not her. She merely threatened to have someone I love killed_ , Tyrion thought to himself, rolling his eyes. _I shall that have to be more careful when visiting Shae's manse, I suppose. Cersei is a far greater danger to her than she is to me. My beloved nephew on the other hand..._

"Mother, when is Myrcella coming back," asked Tommen, tears still pouring down his cheeks. _At least, he turned out to be a sweet boy. If only Tommen had a touch more steel in him, he'd have made a perfectly serviceable King had he been the firstborn. He couldn't have been worse than Joffrey. No, no, Cersei would've simply ruined him too, most like. If ever a child was the beneficiary of benign parental neglect, it was Tommen,_ Tyrion decided. _Now there's an interesting question. How much of our golden-haired King's behavior is a result of the lessons which my sweet sister saw fit to instill in him and how much of it is simply his natural charm._

"Ask your Nuncle. He stole Myrcella away so that he could send her off to Dorne to die." _Gods be good, Cersei._

"M-Myrcella's d-d-dead?"

"She will be soon if your nuncle Tyrion has his way." _Seven Hells, what would you have had me do? Keep the poor girl here so that she can be raped and hacked to pieces if Stannis takes the city? If father were here, he'd have Tommen sent to Casterly Rock too._ Tommen began whimpering, until he was cut off by a voice for which Tyrion had developed a special hatred since his return to King's Landing.

"Shut up," snapped Joffrey.

"But –"

"I told you to stop crying. A Prince shouldn't cry. And anyone who cries isn't a real man besides. They're just a scared little girl, nothing more."

"My sister made you cry," Sansa muttered. _Oh she did, did she? I shall have to ask Lord Varys about that incident. Oddly enough, neither my sweet sister nor my beloved nephew ever saw fit to tell me of it. I do hope that he can shed some light on the matter. I have no doubt that it will prove to be a most amusing story and what good is a Master of Whisperers if he can't tell me about how a little girl made the King himself cry. It couldn't have been easy to make him do it in front of Lady Sansa. After all, Joffrey is King and only scared little girls cry besides,_ Tyrion thought to himself with a smile.

"What was that, my Lady?"

"Nothing, Your Grace."

"Are you sure? I could've sworn that I just heard you say something. Are you calling me a liar?"

"Did Joff-Joffrey cry because he m-m-issed Sansa's sister just like...just like I miss our sister," Tommen asked. The look of hate upon the King's face when he turned to his younger brother was unlike anything Tyrion had ever seen in his life and for a moment he feared that Joffrey might unsheathe Hearteater and simply murder his brother right there. _He probably won't actually try to kill Tommen, but even so... I'll have to take precautions to ensure the boy's safety. Surely even Cersei can see that Joffrey means to hurt his brother...somehow. The Gods alone know why..._

"I told you...to...shut...UP! With any luck, Arya Stark is lying face-down in a ditch where she belongs. If we'd captured the little shit, I'd have had each of her limbs tied to a horse and made them all run in different directions. Pity. I would've liked to have heard that cunt scream for her mother and traitor brother to save her as she was ripped apart right in front of her sister. Nothing would've pleased me more. Of course, I'd have made her kiss her father's head first." By now, everyone had grown silent and was watching the King nervously. _Seven Hells. the next time you decide to act like King Aerys III, can you at least wait until no one else is around? No, that is plainly too much to ask of our golden-haired King._

"Now then, my Lady, where were we? Ah yes, I believe you had something you wanted to say about me? I thought you said you saw me cry. Could that be it? Go on, I'm quite certain everyone else would like to hear all about that."

"No, I...never, Your Grace. I was only saying that you would never cry because you are as brave as a lion." _A cowardly lion, it would seem._

"And don't you wish we could watch that dumb bitch you called a sister be ripped into five pieces while she cried out for her mother to save her?" _Seven Hells, what could the poor child possibly have done to inspire such a singular hatred? How badly could a little girl have humiliated the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms? I really will need to ask Varys about this_ , Tyrion decided.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Forgive me, my Lady. I believe I've been rather selfish. After all, why should I have all the fun? You could've been the one to deliver your sister's sentence. I know! You can show everyone how you would have sentenced the whore to death right now. You'll do that for us, won't you?"

"I...I..." Joffrey struck his betrothed and the force of the blow split her upper lip.

"The answer was 'Yes, Your Grace.' Do you understand or will I need to have Ser Meryn administer a second lesson?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"You heard my Lady, Ser Meryn."

"Please, I...I only meant that I understood. Please, Your Grace."

"Go on, say 'please' again..."

"ENOUGH! Leave the poor girl alone," snapped Tyrion.

"Mind your tongue or I'll have Ser Ilyn Payne cut it out."

"Come along, Joff, we should go now. Everyone has finally seen what a twisted little monster your Nuncle is," said Cersei, gently tugging at her son's shoulder. _How can she not see what Joffrey is?_

"But mother –"

"Sansa Stark is just a stupid little girl. She isn't worthy of your time, Joff."

"Very well, but she'd had best learn to do as she's told. That's what women are supposed to do. Didn't my father ever teach you that, mother?" _The boy may have all of our heads on spikes before Stannis even arrives at the Mudgate._

...

"King bread," shouted one peasant.

"Stannis! The one true King!"

"Renly! Renly! King Renly," shouted several other voices. _Renly Baratheon is dead, you idiots._ The scattered treasonous cries did not bother Tyrion half so much as the way most of the smallfolk were staring at him and his family as they made their way back to the Red Keep. The majority of the crowd held their tongues, but the bitter hatred in their eyes said far more than words ever could. _I like this not at all._

"Bread! Bread! Bread!" _Keep Joffrey quiet, Cersei._

"Ser Preston, escort Lady Sansa to the Red Keep at once."

"Yes, my Lord," the knight replied. _That one has more wits than the other three combined,_ Tyrion decided, glancing at Ser Mandon, Ser Meryn, and Ser Boros. _At least Ser Preston has the good sense to be afraid._ One needed only to look at the knight's face to see that he too had realized just how dangerous the situation had become. _The question is not whether or not there will be a riot, but whether it will happen before we make it to the Red Keep. One wrong word from the King and we're all dead._

"Ser Mandon, get Prince Tommen back to the Red Keep now."

"I take my orders from the King, Imp. I need not concern myself with your whims anymore than those of Ned Stark."

"I'll have your head on a spike next to Ned Stark's if you don't do as my brother says," Cersei snapped. Ser Mandon scowled, but he did as he was told and began herding Tommen toward the Red Keep. _If even she realizes how much danger we are in, mayhaps Joffrey does too. There might be hope for us yet..._ They were almost at the Red Keep when a bloated woman somehow managed to force her way past Ser Boros and began shouting at the King.

"Please, Your Grace, only a crust of bread. My husband died and –"

"Shut up! I can't stand the wailing of women." _For all our sakes, just pretend that the Gods gave you half the wits they gave a turnip. Ignore the bloody woman and move along before you get us killed!_

"But I am with –"

"I am the King and I told you to be quiet. Mayhaps this rabble has forgotten the penalty for disobeying their King. Ser Meryn, remind the smallfolk what happens to traitors."

"With pleasure, Your Grace," replied Ser Meryn. _No! No! No!_

"They'll kill us all, you bloody idiot," snapped Tyrion.

"I am the King and a King may do as he likes. You'd best remember that, you little monster."

"Bread! Bread! King Bread! Bread! Bread! Bread!" Ser Meryn's sword sliced right through the woman, killing her within seconds. The cries for bread turned into screams of horror as the twisted form of an unborn child came tumbling out of her belly. There were more cries now and the smallfolk were no longer shouting for a new King.

"Brotherfucker! Demon Monkey! Joffrey the Unworthy! Monster!"

"To the Red Keep! NOW," Tyrion shouted. The Hound grabbed the King while the gold cloaks, Ser Boros, and Ser Meryn surrounded the Hand and his sister as they made their way towards the Red Keep as quickly as they could.

"False King! Dwarf! Abomination! Bastard!"

"Who said that? Kill him! I want his head! Let me go! Kill them! I gave you an order, dog! KILL THEM ALL," screamed Joffrey. As soon as those three words left the King's mouth, the crowd charged and Tyrion saw Grand Maester Pycelle disappear into an ocean of angry peasants. _At least they had the good sense to kill that old bastard first._ Another group were fighting over what might've been the High Septon's crystal crown, although Tyrion could not say for sure.

...

Ultimately, the rest of them all reached the safety of the Red Keep aside from Ser Boros Blount and Tyrek Lannister who were nowhere to be found. _Dead, most like. If they aren't, they will be soon._ Ser Preston Greenfield and Lady Sansa had even made it back before the riot broke out.

 _I'd have thought the crowd would've gone after Ser Meryn first, but mayhaps that is simply wishful thinking. Unfortunate as it was to lose the High Septon, he should be easy enough to replace. I won't miss Pycelle, that much is certain. I suppose that...wait...where is...Seven Hells!_

"Cersei, where is Tommen?"

"You sent him to the Red Keep with Ser Meryn right before the riot."

"It was Ser Mandon Moore, but yes, I did. However, I don't see either of them here."

"Tommen! Tommen!"

"Make sure that they aren't inside. If the Gods are good, Tommen is already waiting for you in his chambers."

"When have the Gods ever been good?"

"Never. Even so, we'd best check there too." Cersei nodded and much to Tyrion's relief made no attempt to blame him for losing Tommen or for leaving her son with Ser Mandon. _It would seem she loves Tommen even more than she hates me. I suppose this means she didn't truly that believe I was trying to hurt Myrcella. Not that it will stop her from murdering Shae if she ever finds out..._

"Ser Preston, take these gold cloaks and begin searching the city for Prince Tommen, my cousin Tyrek, Ser Mandon, and Ser Boros at once. Ser Meryn will accompany you. I will send Ser Jacelyn Bywater with more gold cloaks as soon as possible."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I'm not going back out there. And I don't have to take orders from you, Imp. I serve the King and the King alone," replied Ser Meryn. _Seven Hells, not again. Is Ser Preston the only one of you who is good for anything?_

"You will go out and look for him now or I'll have you stripped of your white cloak," Cersei snarled. "I am holding you personally responsible for Tommen's fate, Ser Meryn...and a Lannister always pays her debts. If anything happens to my son, I'll make you wish that the smallfolk had torn you limb from limb."

"You'll do no such thing, mother. Ser Meryn, you are to stay behind the gates of the Red Keep."

"Thank you, Your Grace," replied Ser Meryn, smirking at the Queen Regent. _Could that bloody coward be so great a fool as to believe that my sister won't hurt him for this? No wonder our golden-haired King has taken such a liking to him, they have much and more in common. If Ser Meryn weren't soft in the head, he'd realize that it will be far safer for him out there than it will be in here if anything happens to Tommen. And if the fool is still alive whenever father returns..._

"Your Grace, it matters not at all. I will lead the gold cloaks myself. There is no time to waste arguing about who should or shouldn't look for Prince Tommen. Ser Mandon is a skilled warrior, but your brother's chances of surviving grow smaller and smaller every second that he's out there," replied Ser Preston. _I shall have to find some way to reward Ser Preston for his courage._

"You're quiet right, Ser. We can't afford to waste any more time arguing about such matters, not when Tommen's life is at stake. Let's remove the uncertainty. Any man who leaves the Red Keep to search for Prince Tommen shall lose his head. That includes you, Ser Prest –" *SLAP* The King winced and whimpered.

"You can't...you can't do that! I...am...the KING. Tell him, mother! Tell him that I'm the King, so he has to do whatever I say. Tell him he can't hit me anymore." For once, the Queen Regent did not come running to her eldest's son's defense and said nothing. "MOTHER –"

"Tommen is your brother. This...this madness has gone on long enough. Let Ser Preston and the gold cloaks search for him. Please Joff," Cersei pleaded, plainly struggling to remain calm.

"Your Grace, if that vile creature strikes you again, I'll cut off his hands," said Ser Meryn.

"Oh so you're too craven to search for the Crown Prince, but you'll gladly defend the King from a dwarf, is that the way of it?"

"Mind your tongue, Imp. I serve the King, not the likes of you. Striking the King is punishable by death."

"Well then, what are you waiting for, Ser? Here I stand."

"I will punish –" *SLAP* The King stumbled backward, nearly losing his footing.

"I said you...you c-can't hit me."

"And yet I just did it twice."

"Please, Joff. Whatever Tommen did, I'm sure he's very sorry," said Cersei as she tugged at her eldest son's left shoulder. _Whatever Tommen did? Seven Hells, are you still defending this monster? Tommen is your son too, Cersei. Joffrey just condemned his own brother to death on a whim. All the poor boy did was... No, not even Joffrey would try to have his own brother killed simply for asking if the Stark girl made him cry...would he? Could he really be mad enough to... Gods be good... No doubt Joffrey would say that it wasn't kinslaying because he didn't do it himself._

"Why should I care that he's my brother? The boy is nothing to me. With any luck, the mob threw him into whatever ditch the Stark whore is rotting in and buried him ali –" *SLAP* Cersei struck her son harder than Tyrion ever had.

For a moment, the King looked as though he were about to cry. A flash of anger quickly appeared upon the monster's face. Suddenly, the King shoved his mother to the ground in one swift motion. She hit the ground and for once, Tyrion found himself speechless.

"What are you all looking at? It was nothing," Cersei whimpered, "I...I simply slipped and Joff was trying to catch me."

"No, you didn't; I pushed you. Shame we weren't on a staircase. I already told you once that you were not to do that again. If you do it a third time, I'll have you thrown in one of the black cells." The King stormed off, the remaining members of the Kingsguard following behind him.

...

"Father will put a stop to this." _If someone had told me a fortnight ago that I'd be invoking my father to comfort my sister, I'd have called them a half-wit._

"If you breathe one word of this to father, I'll have your throat slit. Do you hear me, you little monster," snapped Cersei.

"Are you mad?"

"What do you think father will do to Joff if he hears about this? He'll... You'd like that wouldn't you. First you send Myrcella off to die in Dorne and now you want father to hurt Joff for you."

For a moment, Tyrion simply stared at his sister in disbelief, before silently walking a way. There were no clever japes to be made about his family this time. The Hand of the King felt only one thing: pity.


	3. Bran I

**Bran**

"I can hear horses. Lots of them! Did Robb come back for us," asked Rickon.

"That's not your brother, little Lord. If it was, Maester Lewin would've told us by now. And your brother will bring more men than that with him besides."

"But –"

"Shhh. It's more men from wherever that Greyjoy boy is from, most like. But you have to whisper, little Lord."

"I want Robb! I want Mother and Father and Sansa and Arya! They're all dead! Everyone who leaves Winterfell dies. No one...no one ever comes back to Winterfell and –" _No! Not now! Please Rickon, not now!_

"I miss them too, but you have to keep your voice down. Robb is coming to rescue us; I promise. Maester Lewin will tell us as soon as they've retaken Winterfell. But we have to stay here until then. If Theon finds us..."

"I'll protect you from Theon. I'm n-not afraid of him, Bran. Shaggydog won't let him hurt us. I've lost everyone else, but I won't lose you."

"Someone will be here soon, anyway. There's already an army on its way to Winterfell. I saw them take the castle. There was a flayed man on their banners," Jojen whispered. _A flayed man?_ Maester Lewin once said something about a flayed man when he was going through the banners of the various Northern Houses. Bran wished he had paid more attention, but the lessons were always so boring. Sansa would've known what it meant. She knew all the Houses' banners, even the Southron ones.

"There's a flayed man on banners of one of the Northern houses. I don't remember which one, but my brother must have sent...Jojen, what's wrong?" _Robb sent an army to rescue us. We'll be safe soon. Jojen saw them retake Winterfell._ But if the Northmen were going to win the battle, why did Jojen look so sad?

"Bran, I..."

"What's going on? Isn't Robb coming to rescue us," asked Rickon, wiping away his tears on his right sleeve. Jojen didn't say anything; he simply stared at the boy. _He's trying not to cry,_ Bran realized. _He saw something else...something horrible. Jojen isn't just sad, he's afraid._ After two of the longest minutes of Brandon Stark's life, Howland Reed's son finally spoke.

"Rickon, I want you to promise me that no matter what happens, you'll be strong for your brother. He's going to need you."

"Is Theon going to try to hurt me when Robb's men get here," asked Bran.

"Don't worry, Jojen. I promise not to let anyone hurt Bran. I'll protect both of you!"

"I'm sure you will, Little Lord, but you all need to keep your voices down," Osha whispered.

"It doesn't matter. They're almost here," Jojen muttered.

"Who?"

"It's nothing. It's just that sometimes I see things...things that I wish I hadn't seen. The sight can be as much a curse as a gift. But that's not important. No matter what happens, you have to find the three-eyed raven."

"Right, we have to find the three-eyed raven."

Jojen motioned for his sister to come to him and whispered something in her ear. Meera and her brother hugged each other fiercely. It was quite some time before either of them let go of the other. Even after Meera finally let go of her brother, she was plainly still trying to make peace with whatever he had told her.

"It probably won't even hurt for long. Maybe...maybe, it won't be so bad on the other side," Jojen whispered.

"The other side? Is someone going die? Why won't you tell me?"

"If I tell you what I saw, you might try to stop it from happening. Sometimes we need to let terrible things happen, no matter how painful it may be...even if it means people we care about will get hurt. Sometimes that's the only way we can accomplish something far more important. You have to find the three-eyed raven, the rest of us...we don't matter. Let's not scare your brother. This won't be easy for him. It would be cruel to make it any harder than it has to be."

"Don't worry, Jojen. I'm not afraid," Rickon declared with a wide smile.

"I know you're not, Rickon. You just might be the bravest one here." *THUD*

"Hodor! Hodor! Hodor! Hodor! Hodor!"

"Stop...Hodoring."

"It doesn't matter, Bran. I didn't see any of the battle, but that was the gate coming down, most like. They're already here."

...

The battle – if it could be called that – ended in a matter of minutes. The noise they heard was followed by the clanging of swords and several screams. After that, Winterfell went silent. Osha quietly approached the doors to the crypt and began listening for some sign of what had happened, Rickon and Shaggydog following her.

*THUMP* This time the noise was far quieter, but not half so far away as the sound of the gates coming down. _Did something fall in front of the crypt?_ Whoever or whatever it was began to moan in pain. _I know that voice, it's..._

"That's Maester Lewin! He's hurt," shouted Rickon, bolting toward the door. Osha tried to grab him, but it was too late. Worse, Shaggydog darted out after him and began barking and snarling at whoever was out there.

"Summer, STAY," Bran snapped as a blood-curdling scream echoed through Winterfell's crypt.

"Hodor?"

There were several shouts and soon the scream gave way to a high-pitched yelp of pain. _They...they killed Shaggydog. Is Rickon..._

...

It didn't take long for the Northmen to find them after that. Several rats were already making their way in and out of the gash in Shaggydog's side, carrying off pieces of the dead direwolf's entrails. There was a soldier's corpse nearby too. The man's entire throat had been ripped out. _It had to have been an Iron Born survivor who killed Maester Lewin. He was probably trying to keep them from entering the crypt. Shaggydog must've gotten confused and accidentally attacked one of Robb's men._

Only two Iron Born had been spared: Theon and a woman wearing some sort of armor. Both were gagged and in chains, but Bran could hear still Theon's muffled screams when he realized that he'd never bothered to search the crypt. Big Walder and Little Walder Frey had also been taken prisoner. Summer began to growl and bared his teeth.

"No! Summer, stay!"

"Bring the boy over here, Sour Alyn. And tell Skinner to keep his bloody crossbow aimed at that beast's head," shouted a voice.

"Yes, my Lord. You heard him, Skinner. Don't take your eye off that monster," replied one of the Northmen as he dragged Bran across the courtyard by his legs and lifted him onto a cart. Bran found himself face-to-face with a man who had two of the bluest eyes that he had ever seen. _He can't be a northmen. He wouldn't be holding a knife to Rickon's throat if he were one of Robb's bannermen._ Something had happened to the man's left hand. It had only three fingers and it misshapen. It looked as though pieces of it had been burned off.

"Let my brother go."

"Gladly, you just keep that wolf of yours calm while we get it into a cage. After what happened to Damon Dance-For-Me, I just wouldn't feel safe with another of those creatures wandering about." The man put away his knife and released Rickon once Summer was locked away in a large cage.

"Much better. Now then, I don't believe I caught your name. Your brother Rickon has been crying ever since Sour Alyn killed that wolf. You'd best not –."

"If you know he's my brother, then you already know who I am."

"Mayhaps, but I told you to tell me. I want to hear you say it."

"Why?" The man unsheathed a large hunting knife and his wormy lips curled upward into what might've been a smile.

"Well, I was hoping to play a game with you, but father told me never to play with strangers."

"Hodor! Hodor! Hodor!" _No Hodoring! Not now!_

"Get the rest of them over here, Sour Alyn."

"Any of you cunts who isn't over there by the time I finish counting to five gets his throat opened. One. Two. Fuck it. Five." Jojen, Osha, Meera, Hodor, and Rickon all made it across the courtyard by "two."

"Good, we're all together now. That's better, isn't it? You, giant, your name is Hodor, isn't it?"

"Hodor."

"Is that all you can say?"

"Hodor."

"Hmm. Well, since the cripple doesn't want to play with me, mayhaps you will. After all, I know your name, so you're hardly a stranger. It's called 'Teach the Half-Wit to Talk.' Here's how it works: You say something besides your name before I count to five or I'll cut out your tongue. Sound like fun? Good. One. Two."

"HODOR! HODOR! HODOR! HODOR!"

"Three. Four."

"STOP! My name is Brandon Stark. Whatever you're going to do, do it to me. Please, just leave him alone."

"But we already started playing and...oh, very well. Prince Brandon Stark. This is a treat."

"When my brother finds out what you've –"

"I guess we'd better not tell him. It'll be our little secret. We're all friends here, aren't we? And what's a secret between friends? I know! How would you like to play a game?"

"Please, no games. Just let us go and –"

"Games? Great idea! Let's play one right now!"

"You don't have to do this."

"And who might you be?"

"My name is Jojen Reed. I'm Lord Howland Reed's son and heir."

"The thing is, little Lord, I'm not doing this because I have to; I'm doing it because I enjoy it."

"If you let us go, I can help you."

"How's that," asked the blue-eyed man.

"I have the sight. I can see things...things that will happen in the future. Things that happened in the past. Things that could happen, but don't have to. Sometimes when you know the future, you can change it."

"You sound like quite a remarkable little Lord. Since you seem to be such a bright little boy, mayhaps you can remind me why I care about any of this. I seem to have forgotten."

"I saw you die. I saw a Stark kill you once. I heard you howling in pain and begging someone – anyone – to save you. But that doesn't have to happen. It...it won't happen if you let us go. Not that way, at least..."

"That's quite a thing. Being able to see the future is a quite a special thing indeed, bright boy. Tell me, are either of these two going to kill me while I'm at Winterfell," asked the blue-eyed man, pointing his hunting knife at Bran and Rickon.

"No, but –"

"Good. Now, where we? I believe I was saying something before the bright little Lord over here interrupted me. Mayhaps you remember, Prince Cripple?"

"You're a cripple too. Your left hand is all burnt and covered in scars. Can you even feel it anymore," Bran asked. The man's pale, blue eyes seemed to glow with anger even as his smile grew larger. _I shouldn't have...he'll hurt me for that._ The eldest Prince of Winterfell didn't hate many people; he didn't even hate Theon or the soldiers who killed Shaggydog...but he did hate the blue-eyed man. The man plainly knew all too well what it was like to be called a cripple and yet it hadn't stopped him from gleefully hurling the word at a boy who couldn't walk. _Did he burn his hand when he was a child?_ Bran tried to imagine the wet-lipped monster as a little boy, but it was no use.

"You shouldn't call me a cripple. It's a very hurtful word and I'm not really one besides. Am I a cripple, Sour Alyn?"

"No, my Lord," shouted one of the soldiers.

"That settles it; I'm not a cripple. As for my hand...well...brothers fight sometimes. It's a perfectly normal thing. And father always favored my older brother besides," the blue-eyed man snarled through clenched teeth. _His brother did that to him? How could anyone do that to their kin?_

"What...What's going on" asked Rickon.

"Is that wolf pup going to shut up or do I need to have his tongue out?"

"Hush, little Lord. Best be as quiet as we can. No one's going hurt you," Osha whispered.

"We'll just see about that. Now then, where were we, Prince Cripple? Ah yes, fun and games. Let's play 'What's My Name?' That's one of my favorites! You try to guess my name and every time you guess wrong, I get to cut off part of your body. Oh and if any of you other cunts try to ruin my fun, I'll kill you all. Well, I'll give the two of you to my men first," said the blue-eyed man, glancing at Osha and Meera. "Then again, mayhaps I should keep the curly-haired girl for myself. The honey is always sweetest a year or two after they've bled for the first time."

"If I guess who you are, will you let us go?" _He probably won't let us go either way, but I have to try..._

"If you guess who I am, I'll let the half-wit go. I don't need him and he strikes me as a man who can keep a secret. I can't imagine he knows how to write. What do you say to that, Prince Cripple?" _Stop calling me that!_

"Fine." _Flayed man? Who has a flayed man?_ It began with a "B," Bran remembered that much. _Blackwood? Burley? No... Bolton! That's it! Flayed men are on the Bolton's banners!_

"You're a Bolton."

"Too vague. Which one?" _Lord Bolton is with Robb and I remember Maester Lewin saying that he had only one son. Damon...Dom...Domeric!_

"You're Domeric Bolton."

"Very good. And how did you know that?"

"One of your men called you 'my Lord' which means your father has to be a Lord. Lord Bolton went south with Robb and he has only one son." Domeric kicked at the ground and began muttering to himself. He turned to Bran and his wormy lips twisted into a cruel smile. _He's going to hurt one of us..._

"You said you'd let Hodor go if I guessed your name."

"I did, but I'm afraid there's just one teensy little problem. I lied." With quick flick of his wrist, the man open Jojen's throat with his hunting knife. Meera screamed and ran to her brother's body. She wept and knelt by it, cradling Jojen's head in her arms.

"Didn't see that coming, did you, little Lord? Pity. I guess you weren't such a bright boy after all," said the blue-eyed man, glancing at Jojen's corpse. "I'm afraid I'm not Domeric Bolton. That was a lie. Oh and I forgot to mention that since I'm letting the half-wit go if you win, I'm going to kill one of your friends every time that you guess wrong. If you get a special reward for winning, so do I. Alright, time for round two."

"I don't want to play."

"You're forfeiting? In that case, I get to kill all of your friends. I think I'll start with your brother."

"No, don't hurt Rickon. I...I'll keep playing."

"Good, I'm glad you're having fun too. I've never lost this game before. Did you know that, Prince Cripple? Of course, there's a first time for everything." _Maester Lewin said Lord Bolton had only one son._ Bran didn't know why or how he'd remembered that, but he was sure of it. _How can he be a Bolton if he's not Lord Bolton's son. He'd have to be a..._

"Are you a natural-born son of Lord Bolton?"

"What was that? Did you just ask if I was baseborn?"

"No, it wasn't a question; it was my guess. If you're not Lord Bolton's true-born son, then you must be his bastard." For once, the blue-eyed man said nothing. He simply stared at Bran, squeezed the handle of his hunting knife with his right hand, and ground his teeth. After thirty painfully long seconds, he finally spoke.

"You will not call me that word again...ever. You may be right today, but one day father will have me naturalized. Once that happens, my name will be Ramsay Bolton. But enough about me, I believe we had a deal. Sour Alyn, get the half-wit out of my sight. It's past time that creature left Winterfell."

"Yes, my Lord. You heard the man. Go on, get out! If you show your face around here again, I'll kill you myself. Do you understand Hodor or whatever the fuck your name is," snapped Sour Alyn, as he chased Hodor out of Winterfell with his sword. Ramsay Snow made his way over to Summer's cage and bent over right in front of the door. The direwolf snapped and snarled as it tried to force its way through the bars of the cage.

"Do you want to rip my throat out? I'm right here. Oh, so close that time. I really thought you were going to get me. Come on, all you have to do is break through those bars. What's wrong? Don't you want to save your master? Who's a dead wolf? You are! Yes, you are a dead wolf. Oh yes, you are. Go on, play dead."

"No, please don't," Bran shouted.

"I don't think Prince Cripple ever taught his beast how to play dead. I know! I bet it just needs to see what a dead wolf looks like. Skinner, why don't you provide us with a demonstration." _No! Stop! Please!_

"Gladly, my Lord." Skinner approached the cage and fired a crossbow bolt directly into Summer's head. The direwolf let out a high-pitched whimper and collapsed to the ground...dead.

"SUMMER," Bran shouted as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Oh dear, Skinner seems to have killed your pet. You mustn't blame him though. He was simply doing as he was told. I always have been a bit of a sore loser and...well...I'm afraid I got a bit carried away. Of course, you did ask if I was a bastard. I suppose this makes us even. Why don't we call it water under the bridge? I asked you a question, Prince Cripple," snarled Ramsay, making his way towards Rickon and Osha. Bran nodded his head and the blue-eyed monster put away his hunting knife.

"Good. I'm glad we see eye-to-eye, Prince Cripple. I want us to get along. You can't imagine how hard it is to find interesting prisoners. Usually I get bored after a few minutes and flay them to death. They always beg for mercy in they end, even the ones who try to pretend that they aren't afraid at first. For some reason, they always seem to think that if they just say the right words, I'll let them go. Just between us, the best part isn't killing prisoners or even torturing them. It's watching the hope fade from their faces when they realize that I'm going to flay them to death no matter what they do. You didn't beg me to spare your life though. You did whine about your friends a bit too much for my liking, but I suppose no one's perfect. Even so, you made the game interesting. I don't normally get to play with the important prisoners. Father doesn't seem to trust me with them for some reason. He trusts my shit of a brother though. Luckily for us, Domeric and father aren't here. It's just as well. I doubt they'd approve of our little game." _How could the Gods have created someone like this?_

"What now, my Lord," asked Sour Alyn.

"I think we've had enough fun for one day. And we'd best get going besides. Find chains for Prince Cripple, his little brother, and the two cunts. Once that's done, place them with the other four prisoners. Oh and while you're at it, tell Skinner, Luton, Yellow Dick, and Grunt to burn this shithole to the ground."

...

It only took three days to reach the Dreadfort, but it could've been three years for all that Bran cared. _Summer and Shaggydog are dead. Ramsay killed Jojen and he flayed one of Theon's fingers to punish him for snoring. Does Robb know the Boltons have betrayed..._

 _Did they betray all him?_ Bran wasn't certain of even that much. Ramsay didn't seem to like his brother very much and he said his father wouldn't approve of what he did. _Maybe one of them is at the Dreadfort and will make Ramsay release us. Robb wouldn't have sent the Boltons to rescue us unless he trusted Lord Bolton. Even if Ramsay Snow is a monster, his father will probably force him to bring us to Robb right away and punish him for burning Winterfell._ Bran tried as hard as he could to force himself to believe that the worst was over, but it was no use.

As two soldiers dragged him into the Dreadfort, Bran realized that there was no point denying what he had known in his heart from the moment they left the charred remnants of his home: Whatever awaited him and his brother within the castle's walls, they were going to face it alone. _Robb will probably think that Theon killed us and burned Winterfell to the ground. There is no army coming to safe us. The Boltons could kill us all right now if they wanted to and no one would ever know._


	4. Jon I

**Jon**

"Each of you crows is dumber than the last. Yer lucky, we overheard you. Having the bastard kill you to prove he wanted to join us...did you really think that'd work? I've seen men dumber than mammoth shit grow old, but yer a half-wit compared to them. Tell me, how did a man like you ever last more than a day out here," asked Orell.

"Most Southrons would die quick beyond the Wall, aye. I suppose it's no different up here than anywhere else. All a man has to do is learn the ways of the land. Like you said, even men dumber than mammoth shit can grow old here. You'll be proof enough of that someday, if you live long enough. I seen plenty of half-wits die beyond the Wall too," replied the Halfhand.

"Mind yer tongue, old man. Might be I'll decide to show you what happens to half-wits up here," snarled Orell as he unsheathed a dirk.

"ENOUGH. If I hear you speaking to either of my prisoners again, I'll cut out yer tongue and feed it to that eagle of yers. You hear me, Orell? Now put away yer knife and get away from the crows. NOW," shouted a Wildling whom the others called the Lord of Bones.

The other Wildlings followed his orders and he plainly had more wits about him than the likes of Orell, but the Lord of Bones wasn't the so-called King Beyond the Wall. Qhorin had said that Mance Rayder was a friend of his many years ago, when they served together in the Night's Watch. The Halfhand and the Lord of Bones plainly knew each other only by reputation. They seldom spoke to each other, but the Halfhand had been trying to provoke Orell ever since the Wildling overheard their original plan with his eagle. _Whoever he is, he's not Mance._ Despite what Ygritte would've said, Jon Snow knew that much.

"Yer one lucky crow," Orell whispered to the Halfhand who responded by head-butting the Wildling. The Lord of Bones stormed over and whacked Orell in the back of the head with his staff. "Listen real close, you bird-brained fuck," seethed the Lord of Bones, "when I tell you to do something, you do it. Yer not gonna say another word to either of my prisoners 'cause if you do, I'm gonna crack open yer skull and paint my staff with yer blood and brains." Jon didn't hear Orell's reply, but it appeared to satisfy the Lord of Bones, who turned to face the Halfhand.

"As fer you, Qhorin fuckin' Halfhand, I don't care how big a crow you were at that wall of yers. Yer in the North now. If I think yer even lookin' at Orell funny, might be I'll only be bringin' Mance one prisoner, after all."

"What do you think Mance will do to you if he hears you had me and didn't bring me to him? The man may have shit for honor, but I'll wager he'd want to do the deed himself." The Lord of Bones spat in the Halfhand's face and walked away. _They're going to kill both of us,_ Jon realized. _They have to...once they bring us to Mance, we'll know their numbers, where they're camped...everything. But even if Mance Rayder wants to kill the Halfhand himself, why was I spared? They killed everyone else. Ygritte might not have wanted me dead, but the Lord of Bones wouldn't have cared what she thought. I suppose it doesn't matter whether there's more to this or not. In the end, we're both dead men._

"Should've joined us when you had the chance, Jon Snow." Jon turned and saw Ygritte smirking at him as was her custom. _Was I wrong to let her live?_ The Halfhand certainly thought so and said as much. It was plain that sparing her was madness. And yet, Jon knew that he would've done it again despite everything that had happened since.

"It's not so bad, bein' free, you know. You'd be free to make yer own way. When yer free and you want something, you just have to take and it's yers. There wouldn't no old men forbidin' you from takin' a woman neither." The Lord of Bones never threatened her for speaking to either of his prisoners. For that matter, he never threatened any of the Wildlings other than Orell...at least not for doing that. Sometimes Jon wished the Lord of Bones would keep her from talking to him. Other times though... _No! My father was as far from an oathbreaker as any man living or dead. Even as a bastard, I can still honor him by living my life the way he lived his: As an honorable man._

"I swore a vow."

"The boy may be a bastard, but he's taken the black, same as the Lord Commander and I. Whatever we were once – rapers, thieves, murderers, or bastards – doesn't matter anymore. We're men of the Watch now. We keep our vows. We don't butcher innocent people like pigs neither. Course, you lot and yer oathbreaker King wouldn't know anything about honor, would you," snapped the Halfhand.

"The crows always seem to forget that part whenever we raid Molestown," shouted one of the Wildlings.

"Shut up, all of you," shouted the Lord of Bones as they approached a large valley. "We're here."

Jon looked down and saw more men than he had ever imagined could fit in a single camp. _How many of them are there, he wondered. 50,000? 80,000? 100,000? I suppose it doesn't really matter. The Night's Watch wouldn't last an hour against an army half their size._

...

"Mance won't draw it out. He may have less honor than a dead rat, but he's not the type to watch men suffer. Wasn't when I knew him, at least," mumbled the Halfhand as the Wildlings led them to one of the tents near the center of the valley.

"It doesn't matter. I'm not afraid to die." _There are worse things than a clean death._

"Than you're even dumber than you look. There must be 100,000 of them and they've got at least three giants. If you're truly not afraid, it means you've gone soft in the head."

"Get in there, both of you," snapped one of the Wildlings, shoving them into the tent. There were many different Wildlings gathered in Mance Rayder's tent. They were all gathered around a man with a long orange beard and the largest axe that Jon had ever seen. _That's Mance Rayder_ , Jon realized. Before he could say or do anything, Qhorin turned to him and shook his head.

"Is Mance here or not? If he's gonna kill me, I'm past ready. Ain't got all bloody day."

"What? That's not Mance?"

"You hear that, lads," bellowed the bearded man. "The pretty crow over here thought I was the King Beyond the Wall. You may be prettier than my daughters, boy, but I've seen wet shit with twice yer wits."

"You'll have to forgive Tormund. He's not accustomed to taking live prisoners," said another man as he made his way to the center of the tent.

"Mance."

"Qhorin. You've lost some fingers since we last spoke."

"And you've lost your honor."

"Who is the other crow?"

"This one is Ned Stark's bastard. Thought you might want him too. There were other crows, but we killed them all," replied the Lord of Bones.

"And burned the bodies?"

"Aye."

"Good. I suppose the Bastard of Winterfell could be of some use. I thank you for these fine gifts. The two of you are lucky the Lord of Bones was the one who found you. I'm told a group of Thenns made a meal a out Jarman Buckwell and his crows yesterday," said the King Beyond the Wall, glancing at a large man whose face was covered in scars.

"As fine a crow as I've ever tasted," sniggered the scarred man.

"Leave us. Styr, Rattleshirt, the lot of you...except you Tormund. Wouldn't want our guests to get any ideas." One by one, all the Wildlings except Mance and the bearded man made their way out of the tent.

"You were never a man who relished the sufferin' of others. Why are we still alive," asked the Halfhand.

"You're right. The Thenns always enjoyed that sort of thing. Me, I always figured most every man deserves a clean death. We won't be killing either of you. Soon as the sun rises, the two of you will be given food and fresh horses. With luck, that'll get you to the rest of yer crows before nightfall. You have my word." Jon had been prepared for many things, but not this. He'd steeled himself and was ready to give his life for the Watch. _It has to be a trick._

"The word of an oathbreaker," muttered the Halfhand, spitting at Mance Rayder's feet.

"Aye, the word of an oathbreaker."

"Why would you let us go," asked Jon.

"Ah, so the Bastard of Winterfell can speak, after all. I've seen you before, boy. Did you know that? I was one of the singers at the feast celebrating your second brother's birth. Went by the name of Abel. Course, you were a bit smaller then." _That's impossible! How..._

"You...what?"

"Aye, I been to Winterfell three times since I became a free man. Hoped to steal myself a wife last time, just like Bael the Bard did all those years ago. I scaled the Wall, made my way to Winterfell, and sang in your father's great hall just like he did. I even brought a blue winter rose, but old Ned's eldest daughter was still a few years young for my taste." _Sansa?_ Jon's blood began to boil and he stepped toward the King Beyond the Wall.

"Easy boy," growled Tormund, raising his axe. "Another step and I'll cut you clean in two, you hear me, boy?" Jon nodded although he never broke eye contact with Mance Rayder.

"Don't even think about it," snapped the Halfhand.

"But –"

"Don't. Yer not the hero of some great song. Yer just a bastard at the edge of the world. They'd kill us both before you reached Mance and no one south of the Wall would give two shits. Not that they'd ever find out." _Robb and Arya would care..._

"Let the boy be young and stupid a bit longer, Qhorin. He'll have plenty of time to be an old man."

"Not if he keeps up like that, he won't. Now for the second time, why are you lettin' us go? Don't imagine us bein' friends all those years ago would keep you from killin' us."

"No, I suppose not. Those were the days though. What I wouldn't give to be a young man again, hungry for glory. I was gonna be the finest ranger the Watch had ever seen, did you know that, boy? I knew I was destined to save the Wall from a Wildling army in a battle so great that men would still sing of it a thousand years later. Whatever else you might think about the Gods, the bastards never miss a chance to mock the dreams of young men." Jon continued to study the man who had named himself King Beyond the Wall. _The Halfhand was right. Mance is a hard man, mayhaps even a ruthless one, but not cruel. It wasn't a trick. If he were going to kill us, we'd already be dead._ The leader of the Wildlings neither looked nor sounding anything like Jon had imagined. He'd expected a powerfully built warrior whose thirst for battle was matched only by his hatred for men of the Watch. Instead, Jon found a man nearing old age with thick jowls and the grizzled look of a man who had seen enough suffering to fill ten lifetimes.

Tell me, how many of us do you think there are gathered here."

"100,000, I'd wager."

"You always was good with numbers."

"Some things never change, I suppose."

"Aye, suppose they don't."

"And tell me, old friend, how long do you figure you and the rest of your crows could last against us."

"A day, most like. Maybe two at most, but we'll still die with honor."

"I'm letting you and your pet bastard go so you can run along to Jeor Mormont or whoever your Lord Commander is now and tell him that an army of 100,000 Wildlings is on its way. Ned Stark's bastard is about as good a witness as you could hope for, I'll wager. When we get to the Wall, I'm goin' to light the biggest fire the North has ever seen. After that, one of two things is going to happen. We both know that I have more than enough men to scale the Wall. Got more than a few men who can warg into birds and they all say the Watch doesn't have near enough men to guard every castle. If you make us fight you to get over the Wall, I swear by all the Gods that I'll kill every single crow. You and your brothers will all die fighting a battle you can't win. Or you could open the gates and let us pass through. I have no wish to destroy the Night's Watch, but if we stay here; we'll die. Simple as that. The lucky ones may even stay that way. Me, I ain't done livin' yet. One way or another, we're goin' to make it to the other side of the Wall. How we do it is up to yer Lord Commander."

"Have you gone soft in the head," snarled the Halfhand, his face twisting with rage. "I've given my life to the Watch. Those gates will stay shut even if it takes my own dead body to barricade them. The moment we open the gates, you and yer horde of savages will come pouring in, open our throats, and butcher us all for meat."

"Do you take me for a Thenn?"

"I take you for a bloody oathbreaker."

"I may be an oathbreaker, but I was never a raper."

"That was a long time ago, before I joined the Watch; I was a different man..."

"And I am a different man today than the one who left the Night's Watch. The Starks are right. Winter is coming. I've seen them with my own eyes. The Others..."

"You hear that, Jon? Mance wants to make nice cause the Others are comin' for us. Did they bring any Grumpkins with them?" The King Beyond the Wall scowled and his jowls shook as a flash of anger rippled across his face. _The dead men at Castle Black..._

"He's right," said Jon. "At Castle Black, a dead man tried to kill the Lord Commander. I saw it...killed it by setting it on fire. Another one killed Jaremy Rykker." _Is it still killing if the thing was already dead?_

"Quiet, boy. It's past time you learned when to speak and when to shut up," snapped the Halfhand.

"Enough. I don't care if either of you thinks yer Lord Commander should open the gates. All I care about is that you bring my message to him. Can you do that much?"

"Yes," Jon replied. _The Halfhand has the right of it, most like, but if there's even a chance... And we don't have much choice besides._ Qhorin Halfhand nodded wearily and spat at Mance Rayder's feet.

"That's second time you've done that. There won't be a third, you hear me? Tormund find a tent for the crows them and have have Wun Wun and one of the other giants guard them. Doubt even the Halfhand could get the better of a giant, much less two; I'll be sorely disappointed if he doesn't try though."

...

During the journey to back to Craster's Keep, Jon realized just how ill-prepared he truly was to be a ranger. _The Halfhand knew the best places to hunt...how to find a quick path and navigate the snow...everything. I wouldn't last two days out here on my own._ Some days, he even wondered if it wasn't better to remain a steward.

Eventually, they came across two of their sworn brothers just outside Craster's Keep. The first man – one Jon had never spoken to before – was skinning a bear. Jon knew the second man though. He'd never thought much of Rast, but if the man helped kill a bear this size, he couldn't have been half so craven as he seemed.

"Kill that thing, yerself, Karl," asked the Halfhand.

"Aye, I killed 'em myself, tough old bastard. The Lord Commander says we had to show that daughter-fucking Wildling bastard respect so long we're eaten his food and living under his roof, so I found my own fucking food and –"

"It would've killed you if I hadn't distracted it. Fucking thing nearly ripped my throat out," grumbled Rast.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"You sure? Haven't had a good fight since I was 12. Haven't lost since I was ten. I'd say it's past time."

"I...I'm sorry, I..." _Rast wasn't half as afraid of Ghost as he is of this man._

"You shoulda stayed at Castle Black, you know that? Yer twice as useless as Chett. Never thought I'd miss that pimple-faced prick. Even if he's near as craven as you, the man. Men like that have their uses, not like you. Dumb fuck! Chett's probably sitting all nice and warm and fat in Maester Aemon's chambers while we starve and freeze out here. What do you think of that, Rast? I asked you a question, you limp-dicked cunt. And I better not catch you claiming credit for killin' that old bear again. You hear me? Damn right you did, you arse-faced son of a whore," shouted Karl as Jon and the Halfhand walked away from the two men. _Seven Hells..._

...

The Lord Commander didn't say a word about Mance Rayder's proposal during the rest of the journey back to Castle Black, but a simple look at the Halfhand's face made his decision plain as day. _He means to open the gates when the Wildlings come. The Lord Commander has the right of it, no matter what the Halfhand may believe. At least we have a chance of surviving this way._

Alliser Thorne met them at the gates, flanked by Chett, Bowen Marsh, Othell Yarwyck, and a bald, frog-faced man whom Jon had never seen before. Were it only Chett and Thorne, their faces wouldn't have been cause for concern. Chett was a bitter leecher's son who took the black after he raped and murdered a girl. As for Thorne, Jon oft wondered if the man was even capable of smiling. Yet Yarwyck, Marsh, and the frog-faced man bore the same grim expressions on their faces.

"Lord Commander," began the frog-faced man, "I regret to inform you that Maester Aemon died two days ago."

"And who would you be?"

"This is Lord Janos Slynt. A new brother, to be sure, but as honorable a man as you'll find. He is the rightful Lord of Harrenhal and was Lord Commander of the City Watch in King's Landing before he took the black. He helped thwart Ned Stark's plot to seize the Iron Throne," replied Thorne, glaring at Jon.

"And he did such a fine job of it that they rewarded him by sending him here. Is that the way of it," asked Lord Mormont.

"I found him dead," Chett blurted. "Maester Aemon, I mean. He...he must've died in his sleep."

"For the last time, he didn't die in his bloody sleep," snapped Yarwyck. "I noticed marks on the Maester's throat like he'd been strangled. Mutiny or not, someone murdered him. I'm sure Chett would agree if he had half the brains the Gods gave a turnip, but what can you expect from a bloody lowborn peasant?"


	5. Arya II

**Arya**

"I have news regarding your brother Robb's whereabouts. Do you wish to hear it?" Arya studied the Lord of the Dreadfort, search for the truth in his eyes the way Syrio had taught her, but it was no use. The most dangerous thing about Lord Bolton was that his face never told you anything about what he was thinking. _It's probably just another trick, like the time he said that the Kingslayer murdered a member of my family. He didn't kill any of them though...not really. It was just some stupid, old Karstark._

"No, my Lord." _They're still at Riverrun, most like. He's just trying to make me waste my question again so that he can write more of his stupid messages._ Every day, Lord Bolton allowed her to ask one question about anything she wanted and he'd always answer it...even if it was about the war. But whenever she tried to ask a second question, he'd ignore her and spend the rest of the day writing messages to others Lords. And he was always trying to make her waste her questions. At first Arya had hated it...then it became a ritual...now it was like they were playing some sort of strange game. In truth, she had come to enjoy it, even if it made little and less sense to her. _Why doesn't Lord Bolton ever let me ask more than one question? He doesn't hate me. And he never scolded me for not acting like a proper Lady either...not even once. He's not so bad, he just...doesn't like to talk is all_ , she decided.

"What I have learned concerns your mother as well. If you want to know where Lady Catelyn and your brother are, you need only ask."

"No. That would not serve," replied Arya, making a grumpy face and doing her best impression of Lord Bolton. The Lord of the Dreadfort made a sound that could have been a chuckle or an annoyed grunt. _I won't waste my question. Not today! I just have to ask him to make the Bloody Mummers stop hurting people. He'll believe me when I tell him that Robb wouldn't want that stupid old goat to hurt the smallfolk._

"Very well. It matters not at all."

"As you say. Elmar, bring me twelve leeches," replied Arya. She felt a mischievous smirk creep onto her face and couldn't help laughing. _Father was still alive the last time I laughed at something_ , Arya realized and her smile began to fade. _Sansa said that she didn't want a Prince who was brave, strong, or kind; she wanted Joffrey._ Arya had snickered at her sister's words at the time, but the past year had turned the memory into a bitter reminder of everything that the Lannisters had taken from her. _She has her stupid golden-haired Prince now. Sansa got her way again, just like she always does. If it weren't for her, father would still be alive._ Arya frowned and looked down at the ground in shame. _It wasn't her fault...not really. Joffrey, the Queen, and Ser Ilyn Payne were the ones who killed father. I saw them. Sansa was there too, but she hated it just as much as I did. And she's part of my pack besides. Father always said that in winter the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. I'll be with mother and Robb soon, and I won't lose them ever again! Lord Bolton said he'd take me to Riverrun as soon as it was safe. Then we'll rescue Sansa and kill all the Lannisters, every last one._ Arya's smile returned as she tried to imagine how Joffrey's stupid, sneery face would look once Robb put his head on a spike.

""Careful, girl. You amuse me, but I fear you you may need a sharp lesson one day. My son and my bastard both required several, much to their sorrow. A wise man does not make mistakes. He learns from the mistakes of others."

"I'm not a man; I'm a girl!"

"Be wise and mind your tongue when you speak to me, girl."

"Yes, my Lord," Arya groaned, forcing herself not to roll her eyes. _He isn't angry at me...not really. I'd know if he was and he'd never hurt me besides._

Lord Bolton's lips twisted into a thin smile. "And it takes at least sixteen leeches to drain all of the bad blood besides. Even Elmar Frey knows that. The boy's fear of leeches is a curious thing. I'd have expected a Frey of the Crossing to be better acquainted with them than anyone else in Westeros. Elmar himself was raised by leeches, I think." Arya sniggered at the thought of Elmar surrounded by a family of giant leeches.

"Speaking of my squire," Lord Bolton continued, "did you know that Elmar Frey will soon be among your kin?"

"What?"

"Your brother Robb arranged a betrothal between the boy and Lady Sansa's younger sister. He needed to pass through the Twins and Lord Walder demanded certain...concessions."

"Sansa doesn't have any other sisters."

"As you say."

"But then who..." The Lord of the Dreadfort stared at Arya with his pale, blue eyes. A flicker of amusement crept across his face as her confusion gave way to sheer panic. Arya opened her mouth to say...something, but no sound emerged. Her mouth simply hung open as she stared at Lord Bolton in shock. It was though something deep within her had shattered into a million pieces and all that remained was a single thought: _No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!_

"No! Please, I...Robb, he...he wouldn't..." _He wouldn't force me to marry that stupid old Frey...would he?_ Elmar would pretend to be nice if he wanted you to do something for him, but if you said no, he'd threaten to have you whipped. And he never thanked you for helping him either. He'd never actually had anyone whipped, but Arya didn't like being threatened. _And he's craven besides. He even soiled himself once when he had to remove some of Lord Bolton's leeches. Now Lord Bolton makes Elmar remove them after every leeching. He doesn't let him use gloves anymore either._ Arya smirked as she thought about the look of terror on Elmar Frey's stupid, chinless face whenever he had to touch a leech. _I hope he gets killed by leeches someday_ , Arya thought to herself as her smirk turned into a scowl. _That's stupid! Leeches can't kill people._

The worst thing about Elmar was how he was always telling the smallfolk that he'd return to Harrenhal and punish everyone he didn't like once he'd married some stupid Princess. _If Robb is King then... He was talking about me_ , Arya realized, her grey eyes burning with anger. _Did Elmar know who I was the whole time? Was that what he meant when he said that he'd have me whipped? He can't have known_. _He'd have told everyone by now if he did. I hate him! Him and his stupid, weasely face!_

"In truth, it was your mother who negotiated the betrothal, but your brother accepted Lord Walder's terms. King Robb must needs marry a Frey too, but he'll get to choose his bride, I think. You mustn't be too hard on him. He only sold you to the Freys for a bridge because the bridge was more valuable to him. Your brother had already given you up for dead, most like," said Lord Bolton in a voice as soft as a whisper. _A bridge?_ It was bad enough that her family had sold her to the Freys, but what hurt most was that it was just to cross some stupid old bridge. _They must have already gotten Lord Bolton's raven. Mother probably never even wanted me back...not really. She'd want Sansa back though._

Arya studied her dirty, calloused hands and chipped fingernails. _Even my stupid hair is all tangled in knots_ , she realized, biting her lip. _The Lannisters could put Sansa's stupid head on a spike and everyone would still be talking about how beautiful she was..._ _Would Robb really trade me for a bridge_ , Arya wondered, sniffling. _No! I will not cry. I am a direwolf. Direwolves don't cry._

"But I don't want –"

"It matters not at all what you want, at least not so far as your kin are concerned. I myself have met quite a few of our fine friends of Frey. I even took one of Lord Walder's granddaughters for a wife at the Twins. I trust that you're aware that you will be spending the rest of your life there with your new family."

"My new family?"

"Just as Lady Sansa went to King's Landing after her betrothal to Joffrey, you will go to the Twins now that you have been betrothed to Elmar Frey. You'll never see Winterfell again, most like." _Never?_

"I can't even visit my family?" _That's not fair! Lord Bolton didn't even have a chance to bring me back to my family first. I can't lose them! Not again! The Freys were probably the only ones who would even take me._

"Your family could travel to the Twins to visit you, if they were so inclined. Of course, it would take another war to compel your mother and brother to suffer Lord Walder's presence, most like. And you would need your husband's permission to leave the Twins..."

"Elmar would never let me visit Winterfell," Arya grumbled.

"Mayhaps he would let you visit your family in four or five years if you spend your days picking flowers or making dresses like a proper Princess and pleased him when he claimed his rights as your –"

"No! No! No! No! I won't let him! Never!"

"Then I fear you will never see your family again after your wedding. You'll be expected to answer to 'Princess Arya' or 'Princess Frey,' most like."

"I'm a Stark, not a Frey. And I don't want to be a stupid Princess."

"Is your mother a Stark or a Tully?"

"She's a Stark, but I don't want to be a stupid Frey."

"I will not chide you on that score. I myself would not see you wed a Frey were the decision mine."

"You...you wouldn't?" Arya hadn't expected, but it was good to know that there was at least one Northerner who didn't hate her...even if it was someone as strange as Lord Bolton.

"No. It would not serve for you to marry a Frey. Of course, that matters not at all. If you believe you can change your brother, mother, and Lord Walder's minds, you're welcome to try. You'll be wasting your time though, I think. I should warn you that there are far worse in House Frey than Elmar. You would not be first young girl that Ser Ryman raped after mistaking her for one of his whores. With luck, Ser Ryman will be too lost in his cups to chase after you. Ser Walder Rivers will beat you within an inch of your life if you catch him on a bad day and I fear there never is a good day with that one. I trust you are already familiar with Ser Hosteen the Clever and brave, brave Ser Aenys. And of course, you'd do well to avoid the one they call Black Walder. If his brother Edwyn is to be believed, the man is quite fond of taking the wives of his kin. Lord Walder knows, but it matters to him not at all. Edwyn Frey cares a great deal though, I think. He would have you believe that Black Walder has already taken several of his good-mothers and raped at least one of his good-sisters. He is at least twenty-five years older than you, but I fear that won't stop our fine friend of Frey if you find yourself alone in a room with him. Your mother was never fond of you, was she?" _I will not...I will not cry. I am a direwolf. Direwolves don't cry._

"No, my Lord. Sansa was always her favorite, but I never thought she hated me...not really. And Robb...is it because my stitches were crooked? I could learn to be a proper Lady like Sansa and –"

"And it would matter not at all."

"Do I have marry Elmar," Arya asked pleadingly, even though she already knew the answer.

"Mayhaps."

"Mayhaps?"

"Yes, mayhaps. Even if your brother wanted to, Lord Walder would never permit him to call off the betrothal that your mother so thoughtfully arranged for you, but if Elmar Frey were to die before the marriage was consummated...well...death does have way of complicating weddings. If that happened, your brother would give you to the son of one of his bannermen, most like. I can only imagine how awful that would be for you. You'd have to spend the rest of your life in the North. Worse, you would be expected to accompany your betrothed on countless trips to Winterfell. And...well...who doesn't dream of marrying into House Frey?" _He hates the Freys too_ , Arya realized. _But then why would he marry one? Is he just... Is he trying to make me feel better?_ It was the last thing she would've ever expected Lord Bolton to do. Less surprising was the fact his efforts to cheer her up involved talking about a child's death. _I hate that stupid, weasel-faced Frey, but I don't want him to die...not really._ It was better than nothing though and at least Lord Bolton was trying. She wiped away her tears on her left sleeve.

"Where do you think Robb would send me if something did happen to Elmar Frey," asked Arya, kicking at the floor of Lord Bolton's solar. "You said Robb would give me to one of his bannermen's children."

"Had he not been killed by Theon Greyjoy, I would have said to Lord Cerwyn. He was Lord of Castle Cerwyn and only four or five years older than you besides. Alas, I fear a headless husband would not serve. Of course, if your brother would see you wed a Frey, mayhaps we should not be so quick to rule the out a dead man. Brandon Tallhart is Lord Tallhart's heir and he too is only a few years older than you, but I doubt your brother would betroth you to an Iron Born hostage. You would be a bit younger than your betrothed, most like. The Smalljon has a younger brother and I imagine you would find yourself right at home among any of the mountain clans."

"But none of them would want me...not really. They'd just want to marry into House Stark."

"As you say, although my son Domeric is wise enough to know that there are worse things than a clever girl with a powerful name, I think. One way or another, he will do as he is bid." Arya didn't know what she was supposed to say to that. It didn't even make sense, but Lord Bolton could be very strange sometimes.

"Thank you, my Lord." It seemed like the right thing to say and whatever Lord Bolton was talking about, her response seemed to please him. "Do you think Robb would let me live at Winterfell if Elmar dies? I could even help the servants cook and clean and –"

"Do you truly believe he would let you do that after trading you to the Freys for a bridge?"

"No. I mean...no, my Lord," Arya muttered, frowning. The last thing she wanted to do was give Lord Bolton an excuse to call her "Princess Frey," it was bad enough that Lord Bolton called her "Lady Arya" whenever she forgot to address him as "my Lord."

"It matters not at all. You will marry Elmar Frey as soon as you come of age and be sent to the Twins as soon as the war permits. All you can do is pray that the boy doesn't live to see the winter. Of course, accidents do happen from time to time. Mayhaps I'll even kill him myself. He did crush one of my leeches yesterday."

"Lord Bolton?"

"Yes?"

"You're not actually going to kill Elmar, are you?"

"You've already asked your question for the day."

"No, I didn't."

"You said 'what' when I informed of your betrothal. 'What' is a question," Lord Bolton coldly replied.

"No, my Lord. I mean...I did, but I wasn't asking a question."

"No?"

"I was just...surprised is all. It wasn't a question though." For a moment, the Lord of the Dreadfort silently stared at Arya with his pale, blue eyes. His lips briefly twisted into what some men would have called a smile, but it was gone before Arya could say for sure.

"You're too smart for your own good. Did you know that?"

"Yes." _Jon used to say that._

"Though not humble, it would seem. You also asked where your brother would send you if Elmar died, but I will indulge you in this matter." _He's letting me ask a second question?_ "Tell me, do you truly believe that I would murder my own squire over a leech?" _You'd kill him, just not over a leech_ , Arya thought to herself, but she knew better than to say so. _Quiet as a mouse._

"No, my Lord."

"Good. Oh and one more thing, I received a raven from my son Domeric. My bastard and his men have retaken Winterfell. He took Lady Hornwood for a wife on the way. It would appear that I shall have to begin referring to him as Lord Snow." Lord Bolton's lips curled into a cruel smile, even as his pale, blue eyes seemed to darken with anger.

"Are Bran and Rickon alive?"

"I fear that would be a third question. Two is more than enough for one day, I think."

"It wasn't a question, I was just –"

"Yes, yes, yes, you were simply excited by the news. Lord Snow and his men found your brothers and...well...I will tell you the rest tomorrow. I'm sure you'll have plenty of questions and it would be rather cruel of me to tell you this when you can't request any further details."

"Please, tell me! I won't ask any more questions until tomorrow. I promise!" _A real friend would tell me,_ Arya thought to herself bitterly.

"Hmm. You are their sister. I suppose you have a right to know. Mayhaps... No. I fear I've said far too much already."

"Please! I won't ask you anything else today! I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Please, just tell me what happened to them." The Lord of the Dreadfort let out a loud sigh and Arya knew he'd decided to tell her about how Bran and Rickon were rescued. _Father used to sigh that way whenever he decided to let me do something unladylike. He'd shake his head and say not to tell mother or Septa Mordane._

"Very well. But you will do as you have promised, else I shall punish you. Is that understood?" Arya gave the Lord of the Dreadfort her widest smile and nodded her head vigorously.

"Thank you! I mean...thank you, my Lord. I won't ask about anything else today. I'll be as quiet as a mouse, I promise!" _Maybe mother will let me visit Bran and Rickon before I go to the Twins...maybe_. Her face lit up at the thought of seeing Winterfell one last time.

"Yes, yes, very good."

"I'll be the quietest person ever! I won't even make another sound for the rest of the day."

"See that you don't."

"I won't! Not another word! Thank you again, my Lord. I promise I'll –"

"Enough," said Lord Bolton calmly.

"Sorry, my Lord. I...I didn't mean to anger you. I was just excited is all."

"You are forgiven so long as you remain silent."

"I will!" Lord Bolton rubbed his forehead in frustration. Arya wanted to ask him what was wrong, but that would be another question.

"As I said, my bastard drove the Iron Born out of Winterfell...or at least what remains of it. When Theon Greyjoy saw Lord Snow and his army approaching, he decided to burn it to the ground. Ser Rodrik and Lord Cerwyn died in the ensuing battle. As for your brothers...well...my bastard found them, but I fear the turncloak had already executed them by then. He killed both of their direwolves, cut off their heads, and burnt their bodies to a crisp. Theon and his sister were both captured and are being held at the Dreadfort as hostages. Now then, there are other matters which require my attention and you will be silent." _Bran and Rickon are... But... No! They can't be dead. I was so close. I..._

Arya didn't ask any more questions, she simply slumped down into her seat. Even if she had wanted to ask Lord Bolton something else, she wouldn't have known how to say the words. It was as though she'd forgotten how to do anything except stare blankly at the Lord of the Dreadfort while he wrote messages. The room grew watery and Arya felt tears rolling down her cheeks. She tried to stop crying, but it was no use. _I sound like a stupid, scared little girl and not a wolf at all._

...

"Joffrey. Cersei. Theon. Ser Ilyn. The Hound. Ser Meryn. Tywin Lannister. Dunsen. Polliver. The Tickler. Valar Morghulis." Arya repeated her prayer over and over again until she finally fell asleep.

When Arya closed her eyes, she was met not by darkness, but by the light of the stars. There were no holes in her heart when she was with her pack. She felt the cool night breeze as she crept through the trees to the east of Harrenhal and looked up at the sky. _There's a full moon._

"Arrrroooooooo," she howled. Her little grey cousins answered her call one by one.

"Arrrroooooooo."

"Arrooooooooo."

"Arrrooooooo."

Every time she howled, her pack grew in size. They would never abandon Arya or give her away to any stupid Freys. Last night, a group of men had hunted and killed five of her little grey cousins, two of them young pups. _Tonight, we will hunt, we will feast, and we will kill them all, every last one. We will feast on their flesh and taste their fear I am not afraid! Men are meat and I am the night wolf._ Her ears twitched as she listened to the sounds of the night: the owls hooting and the leaves rustling in the wind. The breeze grew stronger and the tree branches began swaying back and forth. She smelled the air. _Smoke? They're here!_

She crept through the woods, her little grey cousins trailing behind her. They followed the smell until she finally found the men. There were only three of them this time. The men had made a small fire and there was a dead boy at their feet. One of the men was kneeling as if in prayer while the other two men whipped him. Her pack quietly encircled the spot where the men had set up camp. Arya growled and she could hear her little grey cousins doing the same. The kneeling man shouted something and all three unsheathed their swords. Several of her little grey cousins whimpered, but Arya wasn't afraid. She licked her lips and charged at the men.

The rest of her pack came pouring out of the woods and two of the men were dead within seconds. Arya had the kneeling man pinned to the ground, but she didn't want to kill him right away. _I know him! He led the men who attacked my pack last night. He does not deserve the mercy of a quick death._ She snarled and bore her teeth at him. The man wept and begged the Gods for mercy as she drooled hungrily all over his stupid face. A foul smell filled the air as the man soiled himself.

Arya only meant to bite his sword arm a little at first, but the taste of blood made her wild. *CRUNCH* She bit right through the kneeling man's arm at the elbow. Her little grey cousins all kept their distance, none daring to interfere while she played with her food. The man screamed something about being a weak reed, but it didn't matter. She tore into his throat, gorged herself on his entrails, and supped on his flesh. Her prey's blood tasted sweet in her mouth and his fear sweater still. She looked up at the full moon and howled. All fifty of her little grey cousins answered her, just like they always did, filling the forest with a sound more beautiful than any of Sansa's stupid songs.

...

"Did you sleep well, my Lord," asked Arya as she entered Lord Bolton's solar. Her mouth still tasted of blood, but the dream meat hadn't filled her. It never did. The Lord of the Dreadfort regarded her with the most bloodshot eyes that Arya had ever seen.

"No. The wolves kept me up all night. The forging party is dead too, most like. I sent Septon Utt, Rorge, Biter, and your betrothed out into the woods last night and none of them have been seen since. It matters not at all. I shall see the whole pack skinned in time."

"Your squire? But that means –"

"Yes, I fear Elmar Frey is dead, most like." Arya didn't know how to feel about that. She was glad that her mother wouldn't be able to give her away to the Freys, but she still felt guilty for having wished he'd be killed by leeches.

"They weren't a forging party. Four men is too few and you wouldn't have sent Elmar with them besides." _Why is he lying? He didn't..._ Arya bit her lip. _That's stupid,_ she decided. _Lord Bolton wouldn't kill his squire over a leech._ Even so, the lie bothered her all the same.

"As you say," Lord Bolton replied mildly.

"Then why did –"

"Run along to the kitchens, girl. I am of a mind to break my fast on wolf meat, six poached eggs, and eight pieces of breakfast bacon. You may take what you wish. Or don't, it matters not at all." The Lord of the Dreadfort rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Yes, my Lord." Arya didn't like being given commands, but it was best not to argue with Lord Bolton in the mornings. And she didn't want her new friend to be wroth with her besides.

...

Arya had almost reached the kitchens and she could smell meat cooking. She turned a corner and walked right into Lord Vargo Hoat. There was a time when Arya would have been afraid of the Goat of Harrenhal, but the wolf dream had left her feeling brave.

"You'd betht watch where you're going, you dumb bitch. Elthe I'll give you to Thagwell and cut off both of your feet when he ith finithed with you."

"You watch where you're going." _So long as Lord Bolton is here, I don't have to be afraid of that stupid, old goat. I am a wolf and a water dancer and the ghost in Harrenhal. No one here will ever make me a mouse again. Never! And direwolves eat goats besides._

"What did you thay? I athked you a quethtion," snarled Lord Vargo, grabbing Arya by the throat and slamming her against the wall.

"Lord Bolt...Lord Bolton...will," wheezed Arya as the room began to spin.

"Lord Bolton? You have ten thecondth to tell me what the Theven Hellth he hath to do with thith before I cruth your windpipe," the Lord of Harrenhal seethed, loosening his grip just enough for Arya to catch her breath.

"Lord Bolton will want to know why you murdered one of his servants. What do you think he'll do to you if he finds out you killed his cupbearer."

"He won't care. He'll find another cunt to therve him hith wine."

"He'll care that you did it without his permission."

"Why would he protect you? What are you to him? Lord Bolton ith not the thort to take bedwarmerth. Where are you from, girl?"

"I'm from Maidenpool."

"If any more lies come tumbling out of your cunt mouth, I'll cut off your left hand and thove it up your arthe. You're not even from the Riverlandth, are you?"

"Lord Bolton will cut off more than your stupid hand if you hurt me," Arya replied in a flat voice. _Calm as still water. The man who fears losing has already lost. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._ The Lord of Harrenhal studied her with his beady, little eyes and stroked his goatee with his left hand. _He's afraid of Lord Bolton_ , she realized. A few seconds later, he threw her across the hall.

"You're fucking lucky to be alive, whore. I thee you again and I'll the drag you through each of the Theven Hellth. Do you underthand, cunt?" Lord Vargo stormed off before Arya could reply. _Joffrey. Cersei. Theon. Ser Ilyn. The Hound. Ser Meryn. Tywin Lannister. Dunsen. Polliver. The Tickler. Vargo Hoat. Valar Morghulis._

...

By the time Arya had finished breaking her fast, she was ready to ask her question.

"Lord Bolton?"

"Yes?"

"Why haven't you made Lord Slobber stop hacking off people's hands and feet. Robb wouldn't tell you to let him do that."

"Lord Slobber?"

"Vargo Hoat. He tried to choke me when you sent me to the kitchens."

"I trust you now see why I have been loath to let you out of my sight."

"Yes, my Lord," grumbled Arya. She would never admit it, but Lord Bolton was right. He could only protect her from the Bloody Mummers when they were in the same room.

"Tell me, why would Lord Vargo try to choke you? He is known as the Crippler, not the Strangler. Did you give him cause to be wroth with you?" Arya looked down at the ground sheepishly.

"Hmm. I fear I cannot punish him. It would only make him suspect that you are of value to me and that would not serve. As to your question, you're quite right. Your brother merely named Vargo Hoat Lord of Harrenhal. King Robb saw no need to concern himself with the fate of the fortress' smallfolk, I think." That didn't sound like Robb, but Arya never thought he hated her enough to make her a Frey just to cross some stupid, old bridge either. _Could Gendry have been right? No! Robb would never order it. He just...didn't know was all._

"But why don't you stop him? He's afraid of you!"

"Is he? That is good to know. Sadly, I fear that this is his castle. It would not serve for me to tell him what to do with the smallfolk here. They are his property, I think."

"The smallfolk are people too."

"Mayhaps."

"And you don't have to send them to Qyburn besides. Vargo doesn't –"

"Lord Vargo."

"Lord Vargo doesn't send people to the rookery, you do. Gendry said that Qyburn does things to men up there to make them scream the way they do."

"Who is Gendry?"

"No one, my Lord."

"Hmm. Whoever he is, he is mistaken. Qyburn does not torture prisoners."

"But...what happens in the rookery then?"

"That would be a second question."

"But you didn't answer the first one."

"I will take you there now, if you wish."

"Now?"

"Yes. Now."

"I...but...I mean..."

"It's quite alright if you're afraid. It matters not at all. A Princess shouldn't concern herself with such matters, I think."

"I don't want to be a stupid Princess and I'm not afraid!" _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._


	6. Stannis I

**Stannis**

"But Your Grace –"

"The Red Woman will accompany me when we sail for King's Landing, Ser Davos. I have made my decision. You will command the royal fleet when the time comes."

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but I'm hardly qualified to lead five ships into battle, much less your entire fleet. I was only a lowly smuggler before I entered your service and –"

"And now you are a knight. You have your orders, Ser," replied the King, grinding his teeth as he studied the map of Blackwater Bay stretched out across the table.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Bah. Once a smuggler, always a smuggler. If Davos is too craven –" The King cut off Ser Imry Florent with a loud sigh. _Another word and I'll kill you myself, you bloody half-wit._

"Ser Davos. He is a knight, Ser Imry," seethed Stannis through clenched teeth.

"Mayhaps in title, Your Grace, but I know his type all too well. He'll sing pleasant enough songs of loyalty when times are good, aye. But he'll be the one burying a knife in your back the second our fortunes take a turn for the worse."

"Even if that were that true, he'd still be worth ten of you, Ser. Now, leave us. You as well, Ser Davos. You have your orders. I trust you will do your duty when the time comes." Ser Imry held his tongue, but his bitter scowl spoke volumes.

"Always, Your Grace."

"And what of the Princess Shireen, Your Grace? Every victory requires –" However valuable the Lady Melisandre might be to his cause, whatever powers she might have, the King had no intention of letting her finish that sentence.

"I told you never to speak of that again," Stannis snapped, glaring at his red shadow. The Lady Melisandre gave him a cold stare and the ruby on her neck began to glow. _She is displeased. Very well. Much and more displeases me every day and I suffer it all the same. I never wanted to be King, but great or small, we must all do our duty when the time comes. All the same, I'll be damned if I'm going to burn my own blood on a whim. Robert's bastard was one thing, but this... A sacrifice may be required, but I'll have no more talk of King's blood and burnt onions. There must be another way._ The King ground his teeth as Ser Imry and the Onion Knight left the room.

"Is it wise, Your Grace, to grant such an honor to a known heathen who has done little and less for your cause and seems content to spend his days spewing the foulest of blasphemies against the one true God," asked Lord Alester Florent.

Listening to the collection of dishonorable, two-faced, half-wits gathered before him question the worth of the only man in his service worth a damn had begun to wear on the King. _Mayhaps the Lord of Light will give me cause to watch the lot of you burn someday_ , Stannis thought to himself.

"Leave me, all of you." One by one, the pompous, imbecilic lickspittles did as they were bid. The Lady Melisandre stayed though. She always knew when he required her presence. _She knows a great many things..._ The Red Woman waited until everyone else had left the room to speak.

"Your blood runs through the girl's –"

"I don't care if she has King's blood. Princess Shireen is my daughter and you'll not speak of this again. You say your God lives inside me? Well your bloody fire God just gave you an order," growled Stannis. The King regained his composure, but a bitter scowl continued to reside upon his face. "I agreed to bring you with me, is that not enough?"

"Great miracles require great sacrifices, Your Grace."

"And what of my blood? Find a bloody leech."

"That will not be enough to ensure a victory, Your Grace."

"No? What is it enough for?"

"Favorable tides. You could reach King's Landing in a week using four leeches."

"Fine. It shall be done." The Lady Melisandre gave Stannis a pitying look.

"Your fires burn low, Your Grace. Do you doubt the power of the Lord of Light?" _Of course._ Stannis simply frowned and ground his teeth as the Red Woman approached him.

"Let me show you his power," she whispered in his ear. The Lady Melisandre took one of the King's hands and led him towards one of several candlestick holders in the room.

"Is the Lord of Light going to tell me why I can't stop thinking of my brother's bloody peach," asked Stannis.

"You are strong enough to see the truth with your own eyes, Your Grace. Look deep into the flames. Do you see it?"

"See what? All I see is candlelight flickering."

"Keep looking, Your Grace."

"I still..." Suddenly, he saw it; each flame brought a new image with it. First, Lord Florent drove a sword through his back. Seconds later, Stannis saw himself sitting upon the Iron Throne. Suddenly, he saw a great castle came crashing to the ground in a sea of flame. A wounded lion roared in pain as it slowly bled to death. The fire turned green as a red huntsman filled a whimpering wolf with arrows. The flames shot upward and the King saw a large dragon dueling with another slightly smaller one, although whether this was a vision from the past or the future, he could not say. The first dragon had size, but the second was faster and danced around its foe. Stannis strained his eyes, but he could not tell who was riding either beast. The flames turned blue and there they were. An undead army marched on the North – thousands of them, as far as the eye could see – as the Wall came crashing to the ground. Suddenly, the candle went out.

"What...what the Seven Hells was that?"

"That is why we must prevail. The Enemy and his Cold Children are coming. Your daughter has –"

"No."

"You have seen the truth with your own eyes and yet you still doubt the Lord of Light?"

"No, I do not doubt him. Not anymore...no man could after seeing what you just showed me."

"I showed you nothing, Your Grace. The one true God lights a path to guide us through the darkness."

"The girl...she is my daughter."

"Most men will only be soldiers in the war to come. The Princess can be more than most could ever hope to be. The Lord of Light gave her to you for a reason, Your Grace. She can die for the realm or she can die along with it. There will come a day when you must choose."

"I won't say it again, no. You'll have enough King's Blood to get us to the capitol. And the Lord of Light will have three sacrifices. There are three bastards in King's Landing and Robert Baratheon's blood runs through each of their veins. I will see Robb Stark dead. I will see Balon Greyjoy dead. I will see Tywin Lannister dead. And I will see any other man who thinks to make my kingdom bleed dead. We sail for King's Landing tomorrow morning. Tonight, Lord Alester will burn." The Red Woman smiled smiled.


	7. Qyburn I

**Qyburn**

"Harrenhal ith my cathle. Mine! The thmallfolk and prithonerth are mine to do with ath I pleathe. Roothe Bolton himthelf gave me the fucking title and yet that leech-loving cunt expecth me to athk hith permithion before harming any of hith thervanth. I am the Lord of Harrenhal and the thmallfolk are my property, not hith. That blue-eyed thit had betht get uthed to that before I turn him into one of thothe flayed men he loveth tho much," growled Lord Vargo, slobbering all over the floor of the rookery as spoke. _Mayhaps you should tell him so._

"As you say, my Lord," Qyburn responded, nodding politely. He had never cared for Vargo Hoat, even before the fool began interrupting his work with daily tirades about whatever slights he believed he'd suffered. Qyburn had tolerated the ignorant boor of man because Lord Vargo was among the few who allowed him to indulge his curiosity, but the man was near as bad as the maesters in his way. _Was there ever a man so lacking in imagination as this one? He has had the services of a truly learned man at his disposal for years and all he did was have me check women for disease before he raped them. At least Lord Vargo comes by his ignorance honestly which is more than can be said for the maesters, I suppose. I could have overlooked his lack of intellectual curiosity, but the wastefulness... The man must have discarded hundreds of perfectly good hands and feet. Does he think they grow on trees?_

"I thould have fed Roothe Bolton to that bloody bear along with Amory Lorch. Who the fuck doeth he think he ith? How dare that thon of a whore place my property under hith protection?"

"You know how Northerners are, my Lord," replied Qyburn, playing the kindly, deferential old man yet again. _Vargo Hoat may hold the title Lord of Harrenhal, but a blind man could see that the castle belongs to Lord Bolton in every way that matters. Even the goat plainly fears the Leech Lord. Else he would've tried to kill the man a long time ago. Can he truly believe that I would keep a word he tells me from Lord Bolton?_ _If it didn't amuse Lord Bolton to provoke him, the fool would be dead already, most like. The Starks would not grieve for the leader of Brave Companions any more than the Lannisters would. Even so, it would not do for me to make an enemy of the man. He is still dangerous in his way._

"Aye, I know their kind all too well. Bunch of brooding, thutck-up cunth. I thould put Roothe Boltonth bloody head on a thpike," bellowed the Goat of Harrenhal. _Roose Bolton. There is a man I can be proud to serve. A wise man who understands the value of my work. He has promised that once he brings me back to the Dreadfort, I shall never want for live subjects to experiment on. It was folly to try to ingratiate myself to him by offering him a bedwarmer. Lord Bolton had the girl fed until she could eat no more and then instructed me to slice open her belly so that he could see what happened to food after a person ate it._ It was in that moment that Qyburn knew he had found a kindred spirit in the Lord of the Dreadfort.

"Not even Lord Boltonth bloody cupbearer treath me with rethpect. That ugly little cunt told me to watch where I wath going after bumping into me. The dumb bitch threatened me when I began to dithcipline her. Apparently that bathtard ith telling the thmallfolk that I can't hurt them without hith permithion," Vargo Hoat seethed through clenched teeth.

"His cupbearer? Was the girl's name Nan, my Lord?"

"Ith that the whoreth name?"

"I believe so, my Lord." _A false name, most like. Lord Bolton does a good job hiding her, but not half so good a job as he believes. And isn't that a curious thing, come to think of it?_ It was not unheard of to see Nan outside of Lord Bolton's solar, although the girl would always scamper away the moment she saw one of the Brave Companions. That alone would have been unremarkable, but there were flashes of defiance he'd seen her direct at Walton Steelshanks. It was almost as though she didn't fear the man at all. That would've been strange enough, but rather than punishing "Nan" for her insolence, Walton oft behaved deferentially on such occasions. _Lord Bolton's orders, no doubt. Mayhaps Walton was assigned to watch over her, but why? Roose Bolton plainly has little and less interest in bedwarmers of any age. I wonder..._

"The cunt ithn't really from Maidenpool. Did you know that? What ith the girl to Lord Bolton? If I knew that, I could find a way to get rid of her. I jutht need to convince the bloody Leech Lord to let me and I can't do that unleth I know why he ith protecting her." _In truth, I can't say I blame him for hating the girl. I fear she will have to be dealt with, one way or another. Before she arrived, Lord Bolton would send me as many subjects as I required and oft asked to observe my work himself. I fear he has grown more cautious of late. He still sends me what subjects he can, to be sure, but not half so many as he used to. Lord Bolton plainly does not wish for her to know that he permits me to experiment upon prisoners and why would such a thing concern him unless the girl were a highborn Lady whose sensibilities he did not wish to offend? One would think the safest course of action would be to send the girl away or at least make her identity common knowledge were that the case. It doesn't really matter, I suppose. She will have to be disposed of sooner rather than later. Lord Bolton is sending me fewer subjects and this has slowed the pace of my work. That will not serve. Roose Bolton may be a wise man with the right instincts, but I fear he is still a Lord. And even the wisest Lord will always stray from the path to enlightenment if doing so will provide him with even the smallest advantage when playing the game of thrones. It is a folly, of course. The game, power, family, honor, the Gods, compassion, love...merely distractions, nothing more. The quest for knowledge – true knowledge – is all that matters and the work must continue, whatever the cost._

Suddenly, the door to the rookery swung open and Lord Bolton entered the room. "Nan" stuck her head through the door and cautiously followed behind him like a frightened deer. Qyburn glanced at her and the girl's eyes grew wide with fear. _She is terrified of me_ , the former maester realized. _One should be grateful for life's small pleasures, I suppose. Mayhaps Lord Bolton has no further need of her and has brought me a new subject. He so enjoyed watching me cut prisoners on various parts of their bodies to see how long it took for men to bleed out after being wounded in different places. Men bleed quickly once they've been unmanned, but I have oft wondered if that is entirely incidental or due to the gender-specific structures on the male body. I could perform more interesting experiments on her, I suppose, but mayhaps it would be a polite gesture to cut the girl above the groin. I imagine Lord Bolton would find it most amusing._

Every trace of fear vanished from the "Nan's" face the moment her sad, grey eyes made their way to Lord Vargo. This was a different sort of defiance than the one Qyburn had seen her display around Walton Steelshanks. Anger burned in the girl's eyes like wildfire. A man could not survive among the Brave Companions for a week, much less seven years, unless he knew how to read other men and Qyburn had learned to do long before the maesters expelled him from the citadel for the crime of possessing an inquiring mind...for daring to seek the answers to life's great questions. _The things I've learned by studying the living could've saved thousands of lives were it not for those cowardly, weak-willed fools. With the proper resources, mayhaps I could have even cured death itself by now. I've already brought ravens back from the dead. Why not men? The maesters would see us all blinded by ignorance before they dared provide the world with even a touch of illumination._

"Lord Vargo tried to choke me to death this morning, m'Lord," whimpered "Nan," plainly doing her best to sound like a frightened child. "I know I should have been watching where I was going. I didn't mean to bump into him. I was sorry, my Lord; I really was! I tried to beg Lord Vargo's forgiveness, but before I could he...he grabbed me by the throat and –"

"You lying, horthe-faced, little cunt..." "Nan" glared at the Goat of Harrenhal for a few seconds almost as though something he said made her briefly forget that she was supposed to be playing the scared, innocent, little girl. The Lord of the Dreadfort yawned.

"Are you finished wasting my time or will I have to have your tongue out," asked Lord Bolton calmly. _Ripping tongues out. How utterly predictable. We both know that you are a far more creative man then that, my Lord_ , thought Qyburn with a disappointed sigh.

"Sorry, m'Lord. I wouldn't have said anything at all, it's just...Lord Vargo disrespected you is all. I tried...I really tried to tell him that he wasn't supposed to hurt your servants without your permission, but he said he could hurt whoever he wanted. The stup...I mean...Lord Vargo grabbed me by the throat and said he'd crush my windpipe." Roose Bolton hid his emotions better than anyone Qyburn had ever met, but even his face could be read like an open book if you knew the language it was written in. _At least someone is enjoying themselves... At this rate, I fear we might even see Lord Bolton laugh._

"Thut your lying mouth right now and maybe I won't fuck you bloody with a hunting knife before I dip you in boiling oil. Lord Bolton doethn't need to hear any more of your lieth, whore."

"Don't I? Am I to understand that you now presume to speak for me, Lord Vargo."

"No, I...I beg your forgiveneth, my Lord."

"Very well, I shall forget your insolence this once, Lord Vargo. Of course, if you continue to prove yourself unable to act the Lord, I fear you will leave me with no choice but to find out if another man in your company can. Go on, Nan, finish your tale."

"I would, m'Lord. It's just...it seemed to me making Lord Vargo angry is all. I'd never want to do anything to upset him."

"Nonsense. Vargo Hoat is a Lord in name alone, you needn't concern yourself with what he thinks. And he was enjoying your story, wasn't he?" The Lord of Harrenhal ground his teeth, clenched both of his hands into fists, and nodded his head. "You'll have to speak up if you expect anyone to hear you," said Lord Bolton in a voice as soft as a whisper.

"Yes, I was enjoying it very much, my Lord," growled Vargo Hoat.

"Good. You see, Nan, Lord Vargo doesn't mind. Now then, how else did Lord Vargo disrespect me?" _The girl is a terrible liar and a fool to draw such attention to herself, although I have no doubt Lord Vargo attacked her. Why is she still alive? Lord Bolton must know she is not providing a true account of whatever happened and yet he has plainly chosen to side with her over Vargo Hoat. The whole business grows stranger with every word. Sadly, I have no time for such curiousities. This should be settled elsewhere. I need the rookery to do my work. I require silence. Is it not enough that Lord Vargo contaminates my workspace with his slobber on a daily basis._

"I tried to tell him that your servants are your property, m'Lord. He said...he said that what you thought didn't matter because he was the Lord of Harrenhal and promised to beat me bloody. When I told him that he needed your permission to hurt me, he threw me across the hall. I hit my head on the ground. It hurt, m'Lord," whimpered "Nan," rubbing her head.

"I want that fucking whore punithed. I'll rip your lying tongue out of your mouth! Do you hear me, you ugly little thlut?"

"Yes, yes, yes, you're quite right, Lord Vargo. The girl will need to be disciplined, but not by you, I think. As it happens, I am of a mind to do so right now." _Lord Vargo's smile is curious, to say the least. I suppose I shall have to experiment upon prisoners mouthes. I would not have thought a man could smile so widely. I wonder...how far can a person's lips stretch before they begin to rip. The man is missing a few teeth. Mayhaps I should pull out some from the back of my subjects' mouthes to get more complete results. Of course, that could artificially influence said results. Decisions, decisions..._

"Nan, you should have been watching where you were going."

"I'm sorry, m'Lord. I really am!"

"Liar," snapped the Goat of Harrenhal.

"Very well, you will apologize to Lord Vargo and we shall consider the matter settled," replied Lord Bolton mildly. _Fascinating._

"Yes, m'Lord," grumbled "Nan." The girl took several steps toward the Goat of Harrenhal, never taking her eyes off of Qyburn. "I'm sorry I walked into you, m'Lord. I didn't mean to scare you, I just forgot to watch where I was going is all."

"The girl has apologized, Lord Vargo. Now you will accept her apology, I think."

"I'll do no thuch thing."

"Tell me, my Lord, are you left-handed or right-handed? It matters not at all. If you disobey me again, I will decide for you," said Lord Bolton calmly.

"I accept your apology," muttered the Goat of Harrenhal.

"Thank you, my Lord. I never meant to upset you. I know! I can show how to pronounce the letter 's.' It's not hard. Even a half-wit can do it. You probably just need some help is all." _My Lord? That answers one question, I suppose. The child of some Westerlands Lord mayhaps? That can't be it. She'd be in a cell were that the case and Lord Bolton would never indulge a Northern Lordling half this much, let alone a hostage._

"Mock me all you want, but you will come to rue thith day. You'll be dead, thoon enough. You can't even imagine the thingth that I'm going you once Lord Bolton leaveth Harrenhal. I'll have you begging me to thkin you alive in ten minuteth. Do you underthtand, cunt?"

"You'll do no such thing, Lord Vargo. I am of a mind to bring the girl with me when I depart from Harrenhal. She will remain my cupbearer. I trust there are no objections."

"No, my Lord. The cunt ith yourth." Suddenly, "Nan" did something that shocked Qyburn. It was only for a second, but the girl smirked at Vargo Hoat and stuck her tongue out at him.

"I'll kill you, you bathtard," roared the goat, unsheathing a dagger from his belt. _A bastard? Could she be some baseborn child of Lord Bolton's whom he feels responsible for? She certainly has a Northern look. No, the girl is too old to have been born during the war and if she were born before it, he'd have left her at the Dreadfort. And she has none of his features besides._ "Lord Bolton, the girl thaid 'my Lord' a moment ago. I knew the wathn't from the Riverlandth."

"Enough. Lord Vargo, leave us. Now," snapped Lord Bolton in a voice as sharp as a knife. _Not amused anymore, are we, my Lord?_ Vargo Hoat stormed out of the room. As soon as the Goat of Harrenhal left the rookery, Lord Bolton whacked "Nan" in the back of the head with his right hand.

"Oww! Hey! What was that for?"

"Even a whipped dog will bite if you kick it too often. Thanks to your display that fool knows you are highborn. And you're a far better liar than that, I think." _Lord Bolton trusts me enough to speak of such matters in my presence? That is good to know._

"But you said that the best way to get revenge on enemies you couldn't kill was to play games with them. And I didn't lie...not really. I just changed a few things is all. And you were doing the same thing to him besides," replied "Nan." Lord Bolton's lips twisted into a thin smile and he nodded approvingly.

"I will not chide you on that score, but you must be more careful. Vargo Hoat fears me, but he would think nothing of butchering you. A wise man only plays such games as he can win. Remember that, Nan." _He speaks to her like a man teaching his son. Mayhaps the girl is Lord Bolton's bastard after all and simply takes after her mother. The daughter he never wanted, most like. What other explanation could there be?_

"But Lord Vargo can't hurt me...not really. You wouldn't let him." _Did the girl stumble upon the aftermath of one of my experiments? Is that why she keeps looking at me like that? Lord Bolton plainly intends to legitimize her. It would not serve for young Nan to become Lady of the Dreadfort someday should her half-brother ever die. If she fears and mistrusts me this much already, she would never allow me to continue my work at the Dreadfort if I am still alive whenever Domeric dies. And I very much intend to be. The message from the blue-eyed raven promised me the secret to immortality if I followed its master's instructions, after all._ The first raven Qyburn re-animated flew out the rookery's window only to return in a week with blue eyes and the first of several messages he'd secretly exchanged with his other master...one from beyond the Wall. _I can only imagine the knowledge they've gained after all of these years. He promised to tell me secrets as old as time itself. As the Starks are fond of reminding us, winter is coming,_ Qyburn thought to himself with a smile.

"And what if you should come across him again when I'm not around? Who will protect you then?"

"Sorry, my Lord. I just wanted to get back at him for hurting me is all. I thought you'd be proud of me."

"Then there will be no more outbursts?"

"No, my Lord," mumbled Nan, looking down at the floor of the rookery and biting her lip. _Nan Snow. It is odd that he would bring her with him, but it is no stranger than his fondness for leeches, I suppose. Roose Bolton may be the wisest Lord in the Seven Kingdoms, but he is a most peculiar man. It would explain why he has taken such pains to hide her identity. Vargo Hoat would think nothing of kidnapping the girl and using her as a hostage. That's the answer right there. No, no, the goat has to die along with the bastard. It would not serve for him to gain any leverage over Lord Bolton. I fear Lord Vargo is far too much of a loose cannon and he has scant appreciation for my work besides._

"Good. You did a fine job of toying with Lord Vargo though, I think. I fear I've never been able to enrage the fool half so much as you did." Nan's face lit up the moment the words left the Lord of the Dreadfort's mouth. _All bastards crave their father's approval, I suppose. This one is plainly so desperate for a pat on the head from hers that Lord Bolton could probably make her his pet were he so in/clined._

"Qyburn."

"Yes, my Lord?"

"My cupbearer seems to believe that you are torturing prisoners in the rookery. I trust that you can dispossess her of such foolish notions." _And the humiliations continue. It would seem that I have been reduced to sanitizing my work for highborn bastards. Sanitize...a maester's word if there ever was one,_ Qyburn thought to himself bitterly.

"Of course, my Lord. Little girl, I merely ensure that prisoners remain disease free. You wouldn't want any of your little friends getting sick, would you?" The girl gulped audibly and bit her lip. "Come now, little one, do I truly frighten you so? Would you like a chocolate plumb?" _Surely there must be one around here that isn't drugged._ Candy was undeniably the best way to test the effects of different poisons on small children. Nan shook her head vigorously and took several steps back. _Stubborn little thing, aren't you. Yes, I'm afraid you'll have to go._ She looked up at her father pleadingly, but the Lord of the Dreadfort simply yawned at her.

"Can we...can we go now, my Lord? I believe him; I...I really do. Can we please go back to your solar," whispered Nan, her fingers twitching nervously at her sides. Qyburn smiled gently at the sad, grey eyes staring at him, each as wide with fright as a full moon. _I suppose the best course of action would be to persuade Vargo Hoat to kill the girl, but how? The Gods alone know what he'd do if he knew Nan was Lord Bolton's bastard, and one likely to be legitimized, no less. I will have to convince him that she is some other highborn, I suppose. Hmm... The girl has a Northern look and she is of more or less the right age, if Lord Bolton's raven can be believed. Yes, that should be simple enough._

"Do you know why I have Lannister men killed in the rookery, Nan," asked the Leech Lord.

"No, my Lord."

"Men fear most that which is born of their own imagination. They hear screams from the rookery and, like you, they fill their mind with all the ways men could be tortured in this room. Some fools even say Qyburn performs black magic. They come to fear the rookery far too much to ever dream of disobeying an order. Do you understand, Nan?"

"I think so, my Lord."

"Then I will hear no more of this 'Gendry's' wild tales about the rookery?" _I know that look_ , Qyburn thought to himself as he forced himself to contain his excitement. _Whoever Gendry is, I fear he is not long for this world. Not if Lord Bolton has anything to say about it, at least. It would seem that I may get a new subject today after all._

"No, my Lord."

"Good. In that case, we may return to my solar as you requested. I'm sure Qyburn has little and less time for such interruptions."

"The work continues, my Lord." _For you and for the King Beyond the Wall..._

...

"I thould kill them both. Dumb bathtardth! Lord Bolton knew the bitch wath lying. A blind man could have theen it," snarled Lord Vargo.

"As you say, my Lord. I have news which may interest you though. You were quite right, the girl is indeed highborn. I learned her identity from a message that Lord Bolton had me write," replied Qyburn.

"What? You know who the ith?"

"Yes, my Lord. She's not from the Riverlands either. You were most clever to realize it."

"Why would you tell me any of thith?"

"I fear you more than Lord Bolton. And I have seen how he treats his friends when they are of no more use to him. He favors a little girl because he has need of her, despite everything you have done for him. I imagine he'll discard me too when the time comes, mayhaps even violently. And I would like to think that you are a man who remembers his friends."

"You are a withe man. Who ith the cunt? Tell me!" _And you are brutish, violent, and stupid. A perfect catspaw!_

"The girl is Arya Stark. Lord Bolton sent a raven to her brother informing the King Who Lost the North that he had found his younger sister." _If you had half the wits the Gods gave a turnip, you'd laugh me out of Harrenhal. Arya Stark. The girl is rotting in a cell somewhere in King's Landing, most like._

"The Lannitherth have her. Lord Bolton once thaid they wanted to trade the two Thtark bitcheth for the Kingthlayer."

"Apparently the girl disappeared when the Lannisters seized the Iron Throne. It doesn't matter, I suppose. Robb Stark has already lost the war."

"He hath won every battle."

"Winterfell is a pile of rubble. Tywin Lannister is rumored to be negotiating an alliance with the Tyrells. Don't you see the writing on the wall? Of course you do, you're a...wise Lord." It took all of the former maester's self-control to say the last two words with a straight face.

"Lord Karthtark will protect me if I can capture the Kingthlayer. The Young Wolfth mother releathed him. Dumb bitch."

"But why take a chance? What if you never find the Kingslayer? Surely the Lannisters will pardon you for your company's betrayal if you return such a valuable hostage to them. Mayhaps they will even pay you a ransom. Lannisters always pay their debts, my Lord. It would be simple enough to break into the room across from Lord Bolton's chambers one night and kidnap the girl, I think." Qyburn could practically see the gears turning inside the goat's head.

"It would be thimple enough, aye. When the Lannitherth retake Harrenhal, I thall thee to it that they thpare your life, my friend." _How sweet it is to kill two birds with one stone. Soon I shall have Lord Bolton's undivided attention once more and you will never drool in my rookery again._


	8. Tywin I

**Tywin**

 _The last lion. That will be my legacy if I cannot bring the Tyrells back into the fold. The histories will remember me as the man who was Lord of Casterly Rock on the day House Lannister ceased to be a great house. Men will not remember who it was that re-built House Lannister brick by brick, nor will they remember the names of the monsters whose madness has consumed each of the seven kingdoms. One way or another, they will all remember the name 'Tywin Lannister.' A hundred years from now, every man in the seven kingdoms will know me as either the man who restored order during Westeros' darkest hour or as a weak, old man whose foolishness led to the destruction of the greatest House the world had ever seen,_ Tywin realized as he rode into Tumbler's Rush with his host. _The Tyrells must be made to see reason. This is a war for something more important than survival. All men must die, after all. It is a war for my name...my legacy._

In truth, there was ample reason to think Mace Tyrell was already favorably predisposed towards the idea of declaring for the King on the Iron Throne. Lord Tyrell requested the meeting, for one thing. More importantly, the Tyrells plainly had no intention of allying with the Starks...not after Duskendale. _It is only a matter of time before the Starks decide that they doesn't need House Frey's support. If Baelish is to believed, Lady Margaery never consummated her marriage to that sword-swallowing abomination from Storm's End and once Renly died, I was certain Robb Stark would offer the Tyrells a marriage alliance. The boy may have won every battle, but he plainly knows little and less about what it means to rule. Mayhaps Baelish was right about him..._

 _Baelish._ The name alone was enough to make the Lord of Casterly Rock grind his teeth in anger. _Any man who must needs count that snake amongst his friends is truly lost. The man did as he promised and safely delivered Prince Tommen to Casterly Rock, but he is no mere copper-counter. That up-jumped peasant has climbed higher and higher above his station with each passing day. Such a man will never be satisfied._ It was known that the smallfolk – and Littlefinger would always be one of them at heart, no matter how many titles he accumulated – were all ambitious, greedy beasts with scant honor and a certain low cunning. _Whatever the man may be, he did as he promised. Tommen is safe and House Lannister will have a King to fight for even if Stannis Baratheon manages to temporarily take the capitol. A debt was owed and now I must needs suffer him as the Lord of Harrenhal. Whatever titles Baelish may hold, neither Gods nor men will ever compel me to acknowledge that man as a Lord. I'd sooner see Tyrion turn Casterly Rock into a whorehouse. All the same, so long as Littlefinger continues to make himself indispensable, I must needs suffer the man, his japes, and his flesh peddling. I imagine Tyrion and him are inseparable. Aside from their names, the only real difference between them is their height. That and the fact that Littlefinger didn't murder his mother to come into the world. I suppose it is fitting that he chose a mockingbird as his sigil. The very idea that a man of such low birth could rise so far is a mockery of the natural order of the world, to say nothing of Varys. That man lacks even Baelish's thin veneer of nobility._

 _There will be time enough to deal with both of them later. For now, I must needs focus on Lord Tyrell. He can't mean to wed his to Robb Stark. Not after Mathis Rowan put thousands of the boy's men to the sword at Duskendale._ It was a disgrace that the Rowan host had managed to make its way to the Crownlands and back nearly undetected, but the Lord of Casterly Rock could hardly complain about the outcome.

Duskendale was the first good news Tywin had received since Jon Arryn died. There had been rumors that Robert Baratheon would name him Hand of the King, but instead the drunken fool gave the office to Ned Stark. In the end, Robert learned what came of sending a soldier to do a Lord's job, but for all that Tywin hated the man, Robert's death brought him no joy. It was plainly the final nail in the coffin of stability. Before long, Robb Stark and both of Robert's brothers had declared themselves Kings, and the one true King plainly lacked the wits the Gods gave a turnip. _What madness could've possessed the boy to execute Ned Stark instead of sending him to the Wall? It was Cersei's doing, most like. I should have known it was a folly to send Tyrion to bring her to heel. I imagine the King is a weak-willed fool who obeys his mother without question while that spiteful creature the Seven inflicted upon my house lies drunk in some whorehouse. That is all that ever comes of giving a woman real power or responsibility: madness. Women are weak, vain, and petty creatures whose lack of foresight is matched only by their inability to control their emotions. That has been true for a thousand years and it will still be true a thousand years from now. I'll see to it that my grandson learns that once I've finished winning his war for him._

...

There were two men seated in front of the Lord of Casterly Rock. The fat one sitting on the left and grinning like an idiot was plainly Mace Tyrell. Randyll Tarly was sitting to the fat fool's right and his unflinching scowl gave Tywin hope that the Lord of Horn Hill appreciated the importance of the situation.

"Lord Tywin, you honor us with your presence," said Lord Tyrell, rising from his chair. _Persuading this fool to declare for my grandson should prove simple enough. How did such a man as this ever come to lead a great house?_ "There are no words for how pleased I am that you have accepted –"

"Sit, my Lord," growled Lord Tarly.

"You'll have to excuse Lord Randyll, my Lord. He meant no offense, of that I'm quite certain. He is a fine man, the very finest. And a good soldier besides. Lord Randyll has been kind enough to help me shoulder a great many of my burdens since mother died. I oft think he is the only man whom I can trust during such treacherous times as these. My mother was old, but choking to death on her own wine... Who could imagine such a thing?" _Littlefinger, though he told a far more interesting tale. I suppose it is only natural for a man who let his mother manage his affairs to eventually forget how to behave like a man. The so-called Lord of Highgarden is plainly little more than a fat, blubbering fool._

"My condolences, Lord Tyrell. I hope that in time you will come consider me as worthy of your trust as Lord Tarly."

"I bet you do," grunted the Lord of Horn Hill.

"My Lords –"

"No, my Lord. I think we'd best begin," barked Lord Tarly.

"Lord Randyll, my good man, we shouldn't be rude to Lord Tywin."

"The servants will have the first course of your supper ready by now, most like. I can see to this business with Lord Tywin on my own, my Lord. You needn't concern yourself with such a dull affair as this."

"Are you certain, my Lord," asked the Oaf of Highgarden. _What is this madness?_

"Yes, it should be quite simple, my Lord. Lord Tywin won't be here much longer."

"Very good, thank you. My Lords," said Lord Tyrell with a bow before scurrying out of the room. _Now that Lady Olenna is dead, Lord Tarly rules the Reach through Mace Tyrell. I will not let such a thing happen in King's Landing. Cersei must needs be sent to the Rock and soon. I will not let her ruin either of my Grandsons. They will be men, not whatever that fat fool calls himself._

"Let's not waste each other's time, Lord Tywin," growled Lord Tarly. "It's plain enough why you're here. The proud lion has come whimpering down to Tumbler's Rush with his tail between his legs to grovel at my feet and beg House Tyrell to save him from Robb Stark? Or is it Stannis Baratheon? So many different people hate you, that it gets a bit hard to keep track of them all. I'm sure I'd hate you too if you were worth hating. A man who has lost every battle hardly seems worth the effort. As it stands, you're nearly as big a disappointment as my son Samwell. But what else can you expect from the son of the Laughing Lion?" It was in that moment that the Lord of Casterly Rock decided that whatever happened at Tumbler's Rush, he would kill the Lord of Horn Hill one day...even if it meant opening the man's throat in this very room.

"I am not Tytos Lannister, my Lord," replied Tywin. "And your attempts to provoke me to anger pale in comparison to the japes I've been subjected to since the day my second son –"

"Enough. Mace Tyrell will do whatever I tell him to do, just like he always does. If you want me to advise him to save you and your kin, you will do three things. First, you will see to it that the King is betrothed to Lady Margaery."

"Done."

"Second, your daughter will wed my son, Dickon. Consider her a finder's fee. Or don't. I honestly don't care what you think about it. Third, I want you to ask me to save you. I want to see Tywin fucking Lannister get down on his bloody knees and beg me to save him and the rest of the inbred cunts in his House."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Very well. You can go shit gold somewhere else. There is nothing left for us to talk about, my Lord."

"Mayhaps. Tell me, Lord Randyll, does Mace Tyrell know that you poisoned his mother?"

"What?" _Littlefinger may be no more than an up-jumped, copper-counting peasant, but the man has his uses._

"Her wine. Does he know that you had it poisoned?"

"I don't have to sit here and listen to your lies."

"You should have killed the poisoner once he had outlived his usefulness. As it happens, the man is now a prisoner at Casterly Rock. Abducting him was simple enough. He had a very interesting letter in his possession. A letter baring your seal. Have I upset you, my Lord? You look rather pale. Were you about to say something clever about my House? Go on, say something clever."

"What do you want," muttered Lord Tarly, looking nearly as broken as Pycelle. _Your head on a spike._

"You made three demands. Very well. A Lannister always pays his debts. Your secret will be safe so long as you do three things. First, you will convince Mace Tyrell to agree to declare for the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. In exchange, I will see to it that his daughter marries King Joffrey."

"Done."

"Good. Second, your daughter will wed my youngest nephew, Willem Lannister, and you shall father no more children without my explicit permission. I could made these demands the moment Mace Tyrell left the room. Instead, I gave you a chance to bring Lord Tyrell back into the fold willingly. Had you chosen to cooperate, I would've seen to it that you were well-rewarded. Instead, you insulted my House, attempted to blackmail me into a useless marriage alliance, and spat in my face. If your son Samwell was a disappointment, I suspect it was only because he takes after you, Lord Randyll."

"Yes, my Lord," growled Lord Tarly.

"Lastly, I want you to get down on your knees and beg for your life." _I'd open my own throat before I degraded my myself in such a manner._ Fortunately, Randyll Tarly was not half so proud a man as the Lion of Casterly Rock.


	9. Kevan I

**Kevan**

 _Jaime would have made a fine second son_ , Kevan thought to himself. _I should know. He has always had little and less interest in politics. For all of his arrogance and childish vanity, Jaime has always had the good sense to follow the lead of wiser men. Men like his father and his brother, Tyrion. Tygett never did learn that lesson._ A grim frown crept across Kevan's face as he realized that he could no longer remember what either of his younger brothers looked like. _I'm growing old, too old... I suppose it is natural for one's mind to begin drifting to the past at such an age. Tywin was always the younger man in every way that mattered._

 _I must needs put such thoughts out of sight and out mind, at least until this business in Riverrun has been settled. No matter how great a warrior Jaime may be, I fear my nephew will never be the man our House needs him to be. I suspect Tywin realized this many years ago. Even so, House Lannister needs my nephew – both of my nephews, for that matter – far more than it needs me. In the end, even my brother understood that if I can free Jaime by sacrificing myself, then I will have done a great service for my House. No matter how much Tywin may value my counsel, every man in the Westerlands knows that he does not need it. He will manage well enough on his own. That much is certain._

 _And mayhaps it will not even come to that if Tyrion can emerge from his cups long enough to show his father than he can be trusted with real power and responsibility. The man could be a great asset to his House, the heir my brother deserves. Instead, he chooses to spend his days drinking and whoring. The drinking could be forgiven, but the rest... Mayhaps Tywin is wrong to blame him for Joanna's death, but that hardly excuses Tyrion's debauchery. I pray that my nephew will some day stop playing the fool and learn what means to be a Lannister. We need Lord Tyrion, not the bloody Imp. If he can manage that, then I've no doubt he'll find what I've always known to be true: His father is fair man. An honorable man. A just man. A man who has spent his entire life sacrificing all he has for his family. For his children, for his grandchildren, and for every other man, woman, and child with Lannister blood running through their veins. He is only as hard as he must needs be to ensure that House Lannister remains the greatest House Westeros has ever seen. When our father died, he left us a legacy of ashes. Tywin not only restored our House to it's former glory, he gave meaning to the name Lannister._

 _Some men – self-righteous fools like Ned Stark – will say that a good Lord should always be kind, honorable, merciful, and soft. It is a lie. And more fool them if any of those so-called honorable men ever truly believed any of that non-sense. My brother is a more honorable man than any of them in his way. Men say that "a Lannister always pays his debts" for a reason. My brother is a man of his word. He always has been and he always will be. I would not have set the Mountain and Ser Amory loose in the Riverlands were the decision mine, but that is precisely why Tywin is a far better man than I could ever hope to be. He never hesitates. He decides what must needs be done and then does it, whatever the cost. He does what the rest of us are too weak to do. Tywin thinks only of the betterment of his House and that is what makes him a great man. There is nothing immoral about using dishonorable tactics in service of an honorable cause and the men who mock and slander my brother always knew this, I think. They simply lacked the decency to admit it. Sometimes a man must needs take one step away from the Seven in order to take two steps towards them and so it is with my brother._

 _If Tywin is the cruel beast of a man that fools believe him to be, then what can be said of Jon Arryn. As high as honor,_ Kevan thought to himself bitterly. _Lord Arryn never complained when my brother brought Robert the dead Targaryen children. He was all too happy to see them dead, so long as he didn't have to get his hands dirty. That wife of his, the Tully girl, she always hated us. I've no doubt her husband was of a similar mind. Elia Martell and her children needed to die. There was only one thing to do, so my brother did it. And Westeros showed its gratitude by subjecting him to japes about whether or not he shat gold._

 _Stannis. How can such a man even speak of honor? Cersei has been twisted into a foul, vain, hateful creature with a certain low cunning. I've no doubt that she tried to seduce her brother as she did my son. The Gods alone know what could have possibly happened to that sweet, summer child to turn her into such a monster. I wonder...how much suffering could've been avoided if Rhaegar had enough sense to wed her? Cersei was a different person then. Now she's worse than a whore. A whore may at least need the money, but I doubt my niece will ever want for gold. She corrupts honorable men free of charge. The Queen...Cersei always made a mockery of the title. The Queen of whores, mayhaps. But I cannot believe that a sweet boy like Tommen could possibly be a monster borne of incest. It can't be true...can it? No. It was just a lie told by Stannis, nothing more. Another man who slanders my brother's good name while shedding his own honor as easily as a snake does its skin._

 _Why was the late Lord Stark an honorable man? For conspiring with Renly Baratheon to seize the Iron Throne from the one true King while Robert Baratheon's body was still warm? For letting his wife kidnap my nephew and start a war? Do the women of the North wear swords and their husbands the dresses? Disgraceful. This is precisely why I insisted that Tywin send Tyrion to the capitol. I thank the Seven every day that I was able to make my brother see reason in the end! It is known that even the finest of women are prone to fits of madness every few weeks. Womanly pains, the maesters call it. It would not serve for Cersei to have her son's ear at such a time. The Gods alone know what madness she'd fill the poor boy's head with, if she hasn't ruined him already. That was the cause of Lord Stark's execution, most like. Modesty is a women's shield, courtesy her sword. A pity Cersei never learned that lesson. If Ned Stark were an honorable man, he'd have taught his wife that much and she'd have never kidnapped Tyrion. Catelyn Stark would have stayed in that wasteland of theirs where she belonged and so much needless suffering could've been avoided._ As the drawbridge lowered and Kevan prepared to enter the castle, accompanied by ten other knights, it dawned on him that Robb Stark could simply keep him as a second Lannister hostage. _I pray the boy is more honorable than his father..._

...

 _I see how you all stare at me. I know you'd like nothing more than to open my throat._ They all wore the same hateful expression: The Blackfish, Lord Tully, Lord Umber, and others whom Kevan did not recognize. _You can take your anger and stick it up your spiteful arses. A lion does not concern itself with the opinions of sheep. Only one man's thoughts interest me today. The rest of you aren't worth a second of my time. And I've eaten your bread and salt besides. If Robb Stark thinks he can intimidate me with his barbarians, he is mistaken. These savages don't frighten me._

"Lord Stark," said Kevan with a polite bow.

"Ser Kevan," the boy King coldly replied. The direwolf by his side snarled and bore its teeth. _If I didn't know better, I'd have mistaken you for a Tully._

"His Grace is the King in the North. You'd best remember that when speaking to him, Ser," growled Lord Umber.

"I serve His Grace, Joffrey Baratheon. The one true King of the Seven Kingdoms. Of course, 'duty' and 'honor' are not words I would expect a man such as yourself to understand, my Lord. I'd sooner dine with Wildlings than with an Umber." _Go on, unsheathe your sword, you dumb bastard._

"I'll not have my honor insulted by some mutton-headed, old fool of a Lannister," roared Lord Umber as he drew his sword. "Answer for your words or I shall make you bleed, old man." _Fool._

"Lord Umber, this man has eaten our bread and salt. You will not –"

"Indeed, I have, boy," Kevan snapped, cutting off the pretender. _You won't get off that easily._ "Is that what your father taught you of honor? Lord Tywin wishes to negotiate the return of both of your sisters. Lady Sansa and Lady Arya are both hostages at King's Landing, to be sure. However, they have both been treated honorably and my nephew Tyrion has seen to it that not a hair on either of their heads has been harmed," Kevan continued, hoping it was true. "Rest assured that your sisters have wanted for nothing during their stay in King's Landing." _How did Lord Baelish describe the two Starklings? Was it Arya or Sansa who looked just like their mother? Seven Hells, I'm getting too damn old for this sort of thing._ "My brother could have sent some lesser Lord to treat with you, but as a show of good faith, he sent me. His own brother. I ate your bread and salt only for that Wildling of yours to draw his sword and threaten my life."

"Call me a Wildling one more time and I swear by all the Gods, I'll –"

"Lord Umber, leave us," snapped the so-called King in the North.

"But Your Grace –"

"That was not a request, my Lord. It was a command." Lord Umber stormed out of the room, slamming the door like a petulant child on his way out.

"I must apologize for Lord Umber's actions, Ser. He does not speak for me in this." _Now I have them!_

"Doesn't he? Do you take me for a fool, boy?" Kevan spat at the ground. "From what I've seen, that right there is worth more than the so-called honor of the North. In the Westerlands, we still honor the scared laws of hospitality. If you are truly an honorable man, you'll make amends. Not to my House, to me, for it is me whom you have wronged. You've taken two of my sons hostage. Release them and mayhaps I'll find a way to forget this disgraceful display."

"Lord Umber wronged you, not I. And while I appreciate the gesture your brother made in sending you, I cannot do as you have requested. However, as a show of good faith, I will release your youngest son, Martyn Lannister. I trust this will be a sufficient apology, Ser."

"It will serve, boy." _The boy is a fool. An honorable fool, but a fool, all the same._

"You will not call me 'boy' again. I was under the impression that you had come to negotiate the release of my sisters, not to trade insults. Was I mistaken?"

"No. My brother will return both of your sisters in exchange for his son, Ser Jaime."

"I cannot accept those terms."

"Most men would see their sisters returned to them alive and well. Mayhaps you would prefer that we send you Lady Arya's head. The girl only lives by the grace of my brother, but I fear even his mercy has its limits. And we only need her sister Sansa besides."

"Mayhaps I should send the Kingslayer's head to Casterly Rock. And it isn't a question of what I want besides. My bannermen would have my head on a spike if I accepted that proposal and they'd be right to do so. A King has a duty to his subjects." _Madness._

"Very well. Release my nephew, Ser Jaime and I will take his place as your hostage. My brother's most trusted advisor will be your prisoner and we will send your sister Arya to Riverrun. Lady Sansa will spend the duration of the war in the Eyrie with her Aunt Lysa. Are these terms agreeable to you?" The so-called Young Wolf winced. "I warn you, if your bannermen have harmed..."

"Had you come a week earlier, I would've gladly accepted this offer –"

"But?"

"Don't do it, Your Grace," whispered the Blackfish.

"What would you have me do, Granduncle? The Lannisters have conducted themselves honorably in this matter. And the Greatjon already dishonored Ser Kevan besides. I will not insult the man further by lying to him. I fear...I fear we have lost the Kingslayer, Ser."

"Lost him? How? He's a man, not a new pair of gloves. You mean, he escaped?"

"My sister released him," muttered Lord Tully. "She thought Lord Tywin would return her daughters in return." _Madness. Madness and stupidity. What else can one expect from Catelyn Stark? That would explain why she's not in the room. If the Gods are good, that shrew is rotting in a dungeon. That's where my niece belongs after what she did to Lancel. Whatever else Lord Baelish may be, I shall be forever grateful to that man for bringing that matter to my attention. If there ever comes a day when I can be of service to him, he need only ask. And if the Gods are so cruel as to take my brother from the world, I'll see to it that my niece ends up in the darkest of the black cells. Catelyn. Cersei. Seven Hells! I keep trying to warn Tywin that these mad women will be the death of us all. Mayhaps one day he'll finally listen..._

...

"What business do you have with me? Go on, out with it," Kevan asked the soldier, some forty minutes later.

"Ser, the Kingslayer has been captured. Robb Stark has instructed me to –"

"Yes, yes, yes. Well, go on then. I wish to speak with my nephew."

"Very well. He...he is in a cell."

"Bring me to him."

The second son of Tytos Lannister followed the soldier to a small room and found the dead bodies of his two youngest sons. He turned and suddenly felt the cold, steel bite of Rickard Karstark's sword as it sliced through his flesh.

"The Tully bitch may've robbed me of my justice, but she'll not rob me of my vengeance. You'll serve for now. Mayhaps your cunt of a brother will learn the price of harming a Karstark when I send him your head." _I have failed...failed you, brother. Forgive me._


	10. Bran II

**Bran**

 _Winter is coming._ The Dreadfort seemed to grow colder and colder every day. _Mayhaps it's just my cell._ As soon as they reached the Dreadfort, Ramsay had ordered his men to drop Bran on the floor of a windowless room. The room had a featherbed and the door was always left wide open, but that didn't make it any less of a prison. Bran hadn't seen Rickon, Osha, Meera, or either of the Greyjoys since being placed in the room, but Ramsay visited him every day. The bastard always wanted to play some sort of "game." The only rule that mattered was that if Bran won, he'd get to ask one question before the bastard...took something. He'd already taken four teeth, two fingers, and a toe. _He always lies whenever you ask him anything..._

Bran had learned some things though, mostly because Ramsay was always complaining about his family, especially his brother Domeric. The worst part of the room was the stench. Bran had been left to lay in his own filth because no one would carry him to a privy. And he'd learned to never, ever call Ramsay a bastard. _The last time I did that, he took two teeth and a finger..._

"Good morning, cripple," said the bastard as he strode through the open doorway, Sour Alyn and Skinner following closely behind him. Skinner was carrying a bag of some sort. "I'm glad to see that you're enjoying your stay at the Dreadfort and... Seven Hells! You should really use a privy if you need to take a shit. No matte, as always, you are free to leave with your brother and the rest of your friends any time you want. All you have to do is get up and walk out of this room." _Robb is going to put cut off your head someday. Jojen said that a member of my House would kill you. You're going to die screaming for someone to save you, but no one will._

"Staying put, are we? Well don't worry, little Lord, you'll always be welcome at the Dreadfort. Guess what, we're not going to play any games today."

"We're not?"

"I can see how disappointed you are. Very well, I shall take your left eye today. No need to thank me, little Lord. Your happiness is the only reward I require. Nothing to say? You're learning! Mayhaps you're not a half-wit, after all."

"Just a cripple, m'Lord."

"That's exactly right, Skinner," exclaimed the bastard. "A cripple who has been soiling himself for days because his legs don't work. But that's enough of that; the little Lord already knows he'll never walk again, doesn't he?"

"Yes," Bran muttered. _Bastard! Bastard! Bastard! Bastard!_

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good boy! Now then, it's time for a field trip. I think it's past time we checked in on your little friends, don't you? My men will carry you to the dungeon. I believe you've already met Skinner and Sour Alyn. You know, you Starks may be the most self-righteous bastards in the seven kingdoms, but you were right about one thing. Wolves do make fine cloaks...or at least, that direwolf of yours certainly did."

...

The dungeon of the Dreadfort was so cold that it made Bran's room seem like Dorne. _There's no one in any of these cells except Theon._

"My brother...where's Rickon?" Ramsay put his right index finger to his lip and glanced at his men. Skinner and Sour Alyn dropped Bran on the stone floor and for a moment the pain was so great that he thought his head had cracked open. _Robb is going to kill all of you someday... I just have to stay alive until that day comes!_ Jojen's words were the only reason Bran had any self-restraint – or hope – when speaking to the bastard. Theon whimpered and wept, but said nothing. _What did they do to him?_

"Do you know what your sister did, turncloak," asked the bastard.

"N-no, my Lord."

"Since this is an educational field trip for the little Lord, I suppose it's only fitting that you're about to learn something too. Skinner, hand me the bag."

"Yes, m'Lord."

"Now then, you've been a very good boy, turncloak. I think you deserve a reward! I've got a pillow for you. Pay close attention, cripple. You're about to learn what happens to people who displease me." With that, the bastard reached into the bag and tossed a woman's head into Theon's lap. As the man who betrayed his family threw up all over himself and began to scream, Bran realized that he no longer bore the turncloak any ill will. _Can you hear me, Old Gods? Whatever Theon did, no one deserves to suffer like this. I forgive him for what he has done to my House. If this is his punishment, let it end. Please..._

"Your sister didn't get far after she escaped the Dreadfort. I must be a better hunter than the ones on the Iron Islands. It wasn't hard to track her down; I didn't even need to use the hounds, but I still gave them her organs. I had the head dipped in tar to slow the rot and you will sleep on it every night. Grunt will come by to check on you at random times and if you're not sleeping on it, I'll have you gelded. Oh and in case you get cold, I've had her skin sewn into a blanket for you. Isn't that generous of me?"

"Leave him alone, you bastard," snapped Bran.

"What did...What did you say?"

"I..."

"Skinner, Sour Alyn, bring this crippled cunt back to his room," snarled Ramsay as he unsheathed his flaying knife. "It would appear that he is a slower learner than I thought."

...

"I know why you're upset, little Lord. I promised to cut out your left eye. Don't worry, I didn't forget! In fact, I might as well cut both of them out while I'm here," snarled the bastard as his wormy lips curled into a savage smile. _Tonight, I'll be free. I'll fly again... I'll still see in my dreams._ "No, no, that won't do. First I'll show you what I've done to your brother. It'll be the last thing you see before I –"

"What is the meaning of this," a voice calmly asked from the doorway. "Put away the knife. Now." The man had pale blue eyes...just like Ramsay's. There was a hunch-backed old man standing behind him. The hunch-back had his hand on the shoulder of a trembling little boy. "Run to your brother, Lord Rickon," said the pale-eyed man. "He's missed you a great deal, I think." Rickon did as he was told and hugged his brother fiercely.

"Domeric, what the fuck are you doing here? You're supposed to be building that bloody tunnel of yours," snarled the bastard.

"I did. And when I returned to the Dreadfort, I found Lord Rickon standing on a stool with a rope around his neck. The boy's legs were about to give out. A few more minutes and he'd have been hanging from a tree."

"Lord Ramsay knows how to handle prisoners, m'lord. It was me what strung the brat up though. Couldn't make the cunt stop crying and Lord Ramsay said to be creative," replied Sour Alyn proudly. Domeric studied the man for a moment before silently driving a dagger through the bottom of the man's jaw in one swift motion. Sour Alyn desperately tried to cover his throat with his hands as blood spurted from his neck and his mouth. He wheezed and gasped for breath before falling to the ground...dead. _Why would he kill one of his own men?_ "Do you have any thoughts you wish to contribute, Skinner?"

"N-no, m'lord."

"Good."

"You can't just kill my men whenever you want, you cunt."

"Your men? You own nothing. And everything you have belongs to father and me besides. Now, would you please be so kind as to lower your voice? You've frightened our guests enough already, I think. You've behaved quite boorishly, I think," said Domeric mildly as he picked up a bronze candlestick holder.

"Father won't be around forever and when he–" *CRACK* Ramsay stumbled backward and fell, hitting his head on the stone floor. There was already large bruise on the bastard's forehead where his half-brother had hit him. _Did he kill...no...the bastard is still breathing._

"If you act like a dog, you will be treated like one. Ben, drag my father's bastard to the kennel, put a collar around his neck, chain him to the wall, and leave him with the hounds until tomorrow morning. You are to give him a single piece of raw meat to sup on whenever he wakes up." The hunchback nodded, grabbed Ramsay's feet, and did as he was bid. The bastard grunted as his head banged into the door.

"Skinner, do you remember when I told you that I have come to rely upon you as my father relies upon Locke?"

"Yes, m'Lord."

"Good. Then I trust that you can imagine my surprise when Ben Bones told me that you were in the room when Sour Alyn gave Lord Rickon a black eye. What am I to make of this?"

"Lord Snow ordered –"

"I named you Castellan of the Dreadfort in my absence. That meant that you outranked him. It also meant that I trusted you to keep that dog on his leash. Did I ask too much of you?"

"No, m'Lord. I...I did what I could, but...please...I..."

"We were friends long before father instructed you to spy on my dog. In light of that fact, I won't kill you. And a just punishment must needs be proportional to the crime. Ben Bones says the only ones who actually harmed the Lordlings were Ramsay and Sour Alyn."

"Please...I...I had no choice, m'Lord. Ramsay, he...he is a Lord; he forced Lady Hornwood to marry him and then starved her to death. He was a Lord, m'Lord, and...I couldn't disobey him. He'd flay me, you know he would, m'Lord. And Lord Roose, he'd kill me for losing Lord Ramsay's trust."

"As you say. But whether or not Lord Snow flays you is no concern of mine, is it?"

"No, m'Lord."

"I should cut off your ears since you don't seem to be using them when I give you commands. Or mayhaps you would prefer that I blind you..."

"Please, m'Lord...mercy. Please!"

"You wronged the Starklings as well. Tell me, little Lords, what should be done with our friend." Skinner fell to his knees and his pleas grew more and more incoherent. Before long, he sounded even more frightened than Rickon. Bran found that for all that he hated the man, he could not help but pity him.

"Don't hurt him, my Lord. Please don't..."

"Did you hear that, Skinner? The little Lord thinks I should give you another chance. Very well. Despite my father's best efforts, my heart is not made of stone. I will give you a choice; the same choice that I once gave Lord Snow. If you chose to be punished, it will be painful, but you will have atoned for your...lapse in judgment. All will be forgiven. If I could forgive Ramsay for what he did, I can forgive you. If you chose not to be punished and fail me again in any way, I will kill you as a matter of principle."

"Thank you, m'Lord. No need for any punishment! I won't fail you again."

"See that you don't; now, leave us. And shut the door on your way out."

Once Skinner left the room, Domeric smiled gently at Bran and Rickon. "I apologize for Lord Snow's impolite behavior, my Lords. I give you my word that he will not hurt either of you again. Do you accept my apology?" _Impolite? Are you insane? Arya was being impolite when she threw food at Sansa. Your brother burned down my home, cut Jojen's throat, made a cloak out of Summer, pulled out my teeth, cut off my fingers and toes, tried to hang Rickon, skinned a woman so he could throw her severed head at her brother, told his men to drop me head first onto a stone floor, left me on the floor of this room until I soiled myself, and was about to cut out my eyes. That is more than impolite, you bloody madman!_ Bran nodded wearily rather than risk angering the strange man.

"Good. Now that we've dealt with that matter, I should warn you that if your brother starts crying again, he will leave me no choice but to find a suitable muzzle." _Seven Hells. He's a person, not a dog._ "In truth, there are some days where I wonder if I should have simply killed Ramsay and yet I fear kinslaying might make father wroth with me. I'm sure you oft feel quite the same way about your brother."

"No, I never have. He's my brother," Bran blurted.

"And you've never wanted to kill him? Not even once?"

"Of course not."

"Surely there is someone in your family whom you would kill if you had the chance. I suppose it doesn't have to be a brother. What about your father? I oft think about..."

"NO, THERE IS NO ONE IN MY FAMILY THAT I WANT TO MURDER," Bran snapped.

"It is rude to yell, little Lord. I cannot abide rudeness. You will apologize," said Domeric mildly, as he unsheathed a flaying knife.

"You want...you want me to apologize to you?"

"As you say. If you don't apologize for raising your voice to me, then I will be forced to start cutting off your fingers. I would prefer not to discipline a child, but if I must..."

"I'm sorry, my Lord," grumbled Bran.

"What are you apologizing for?"

"I'm sorry for raising my voice to you, my Lord." _Did Rickon and I die at Winterfell? Am I in one of the Seven Hells? No, that can't be it. It makes far too much sense. Mayhaps this is just a nightmare and... If Arya were here, she'd probably tell me what a stupid thought that was,_ Bran thought to himself sadly. _The Lannister killed her, just like father... They've already killed Sansa too, most like. Soon we'll all be dead except for Robb and mother._

"Very well, I accept your apology. Hmm. Forgive me, but you are a very peculiar little boy. You didn't want me to kill Skinner and you've never thought about killing your little brother...or anyone else in your family. Quite strange... It matters not at all. I fear that I will be forced to kill Lord Snow sooner or later. Father too." _Peculiar? I'm peculiar?_

"But they're your kin..."

"It's how he'd want to die, I think. And Ramsay is my half-brother, not my brother. He was born on the wrong side of the sheets. I suppose that I will hate myself for it...for a time. It matters not at all. I hate myself for many of the things that I've been forced to do. Mayhaps it won't come to that; I am doing the best that I can to train the bastard. I thought fire-branding a 'D' onto his chest would remind him of what he is, but I fear he will require a harsher punishment this time. It will hurt me far more than it hurts him, I think."

"What?"

"'D' is for dog. That is all my half-brother really is, in truth. 'D' is also the first letter of my name and I am Lord Snow's owner. I fear he has forgotten that. I imagine that he burned down your home to spite me. He thought he could cheapen my prize, most like. Tell me, would either of you like to watch when I pull out four of his teeth?" Bran shook his head vigorously. _Are all of the Boltons insane? Why would father allow people like this to be Lords?_

"No? Not even Lord Rickon? It could be a useful learning experience. You needn't worry about the experience upsetting him. My father used to force me to watch him discipline our most willful prisoners when I was his age. I hated it at the time, but the results speak for themselves, I think."

"No...th-thank you, my Lord."

"Yes, I suppose it would be a shame if I were forced to put Ramsay down. I used to have such hopes for him. No, no, you're quite right, it's as much my fault as it is his. When a dog misbehaves, the fault lies with its master. All the same, if I must needs kill him, so be it. You have the right of it, Little Lord. I have a responsibility to kill him if the necessary adjustments cannot be made in a timely manner." _I never said any of that..._

"Don't you care that killing him would make you a kinslayer? That doesn't bother you at all?"

"You do not know Lord Snow as I do, little Lord; the bastard already tried to poison me. Some men would have killed their half-brother for that, but I was a different man then. That was before father...fixed me. I tried to kill Ramsay, but...I couldn't. He was my kin. Father said I could keep him so long as I trained him properly and I gave him the same choice that I offered Skinner. As you can see, there are still many adjustments that must needs be made or else...well...there are two types of dogs, I think. One is the kind that can be trained. I still have some hope left that Ramsay may be this sort of animal. He hasn't tried to kill me again after I punished him by forcing him to dip one of his hands in boiling oil. Of course, he did burn down Winterfell to spite me, so mayhaps he is simply a rabid dog. The only thing to do with a rabid dog is to cut its throat before it bites you, no matter how fond you may be of the beast. Mayhaps I should dip his head in boiling oil the next time that I catch him foaming at the mouth. It matters not at all. You and your brother won't have to suffer the Dreadfort much longer."

"You're letting us go?"

"No, that would not serve. I'll kill both of you as soon as I have father's permission and feed you to the hounds once you're dead. I can't harm either of you without permission or he will be most wroth with me. Mayhaps my father will keep the Greyjoy boy and Lady Meera as hostages, but he will want to dispose of you and your brother as soon as possible, I think. One way or another, I can assure you that your deaths will be quite painless. Father expects me to maintain a veneer of civility and I would never flay a child besides. My father may be fond of our family's...traditions, but they are a relic of a time long since past. There will be no more flayed men once father dies."

"Where is Osha?"

"Your Wildling friend? No one knows and I fear that can only mean that Lord Snow fed her to the hounds," said Domeric in a voice so soft that Bran had to strain to hear it. _Mayhaps Rickon didn't hear..._ "Father will not care about her, I think." Bran felt something wet as the last of his younger brother's courage left him.

"I do hope I haven't upset you. None of this brings me any pleasure. I was once a soft, foolish, weak little boy like the two of you, but my father forced me to learn the true way of the world. I needed adjustments. It was...it was for the best...what he forced me to do...even to her... Your father was an honorable man and look at where it got him. Father said I needed certain adjustments. I never wanted to...especially not her, but I...I needed adjustments. He only wanted..." For a moment, the pale-eyed man's mask fell off and Bran saw a sad, frightened little boy standing before him, but the child vanished as quickly as he had appeared. "Forgive me, my Lords. *cough* My father did the best that he could to train me, but I fear that I still suffer from occasional moments of weakness. If either of you speak a word of what you just saw to anyone, I will make whichever of you did so watch while I flay your brother. Do you understand?" Rickon began to cry.

"Now, now, dry those eyes, little Lord. A Lordling should not cry. Little girls may cry. Ladies may cry. A man should never cry. That was one of father's adjustments. I needed it. A Lord should never cry; I see that now. If a boy cries then he must needs be punished." Domeric's lips curled into a cruel smile. "I wasn't planning to discuss this matter until you started crying, but mayhaps it will please you to know that while our time together will be at an end soon enough, my father has informed me that your sister is alive and well. It would seem that Lady Arya escaped from King's Landing and is in my father's care as we speak. Your mother and the King Who Lost the North don't know, but...well...they haven't done a very good job protecting their kin, so mayhaps it is for the best."

"Arya's alive," asked Rickon timidly. _No! No! No! No! Roose Bolton must be worse than Ramsay or Domeric; he's the one who raised them this way. He's probably torturing her right now. No! He can't! Robb wouldn't let him...just like he wouldn't let them hurt me and Rickon..._

"Did...did you hear that, Rickon? Arya's safe. She must have escaped and is prob...probably on her way back to moth...mother and Robb right now." Bran fought back tears and forced himself to smile reassuringly at his brother.

"Yes, little Lords, it would seem that my father is rather favorably disposed towards her. Your sister must be quite a singular child. My father loathes most members of the weaker sex. He always said they were fools who wasted their days knitting and singing. In truth, I sometimes fear that my father has simply mellowed with age. Mayhaps it is those leeches which he loves so much more than either of his children," Domeric muttered, rolling his eyes. "It matters not at all. Even if my father hated your sister, we need her alive. And there must always be a Stark in Winterfell besides. One way or another, the girl will do as she is bid when the time comes. I will see to that personally..."

"What does he mean, Bran? Is Arya going to Winterfell? Doesn't she know that the bad men burned it down," asked Rickon. "Bran? Bran?" Bran's eyes rolled into the back of his head.

...

Bran flew through the skies of some distant Southron land. His brothers were with him again, just like they were during every other dream he'd had since Summer died. They were dreams; that much was certain...they had to be. Even so, Bran broke away from his little brothers and began to fly North when he suddenly woke up on a feather bed. _I can't be warging. Summer's dead and there are no more dragons besides._


	11. Chett I

AN: Apologies to any squeamish readers, but this chapter had to be from the perspective of one of the most depraved characters in ASOIAF (even though he only gets one POV chapter in ASoS). For what it is worth, writing a POV from his perspective was as uncomfortable for me as reading it may be for some :P

 **Chett**

"I already strangled Maester Aemon and the Lord Commander is furious with Piggy for losing all the bloody ravens. They need me now, even if I don't have that blubbering craven's book learning. And no one suspects anything besides." _Try to give away my position to that fat fuck, will you, old man? You won't take away my warm fire, you hear?_

"They know he was murdered," whispered Karl. "I ain't dyin' for you, you pimple-faced fuck. I ain't some dumb, shriveled up cunt like Rast over here. Men paid me ten silvers to kill a man. Ya hear that? Ten bloody silvers. I was a legend in Gin Alley and when you're a fuckin' legend, yer services don't come cheap."

"A legend? You hear that, Rast? Yer boy here is a legend. You kill the Old Bear and and I'll have you running the bloody Night's Watch. The man I got in mind for Lord Commander would would fuck the King himself if you told him to. He's terrified of you," Chett calmly replied. _And I'll be long gone by the time the bloody Starks find out besides._

"They'll never make Rast Lord Commander." It took all of Chett's self-restraint not to slap the so-called legend of Gin Alley. _I shouldn't even be in this frozen wasteland with the likes of you. I didn't do nothing wrong...not really. That whore had it coming; the bitch laughed at me. The cunt would sleep with everyone what asked her except me. The fuck is wrong with me? If she'd just let me take her, I wouldn't have had to rape her. She'd still be alive and I wouldn't be surrounded by these bloody cunts. Dumb bitch._

"Not Rast, you –"

"Who then? Ser Piggy," asked Softfoot. _I hate you all. Each and every bloody one of you. Others take the whole damn lot of you._

"NO, NOT PIGGY! NOT THAT BLOODY CRAVEN! SAMWELL FUCKING TARLY WILL NEVER BE LORD COMMANDER! I AM GOING TO OPEN HIS THROAT FROM EAR TO EAR AND DRINK WINE FROM HIS BLOODY SKULL BEFORE I LEAVE, YOU SHIT-BRAINED HALF-WIT."

"For fuck's sake, keep yer bloody voice down, Chett, or we're all dead men," hissed Rast. "I don't want no part in –"

"You'll take part in whatever I tell you to take part in, you bastard, orphan, son of a whore," roared Karl as he sent Rast tumbling to the ground with a single blow.

"Rast, since yer the new Lord Commander, can I keep Mormont's crow," asked Small Paul. _This meeting is a bloody disaster._

"I haven't lost a fight in twenty years. You know why? Because I'm a fucking legend that's why! A FUCKING LEGEND!" _How good can life really be at Craster's Keep? Mayhaps I should just turn myself in so I can watch you cunts hang. At least Rast is only a half-wit. More than can be said for the rest of this lot._

"Can't we all just get along?"

"Shut up, dickless Dirk! You think you can take me? Ain't had me a good fight in twenty years. Never lost before neither, but maybe you're the man for the job? Eh?"

"No. I wouldn't have a chance."

"Damn right, you wouldn't. I was a fucking legend and you don't kill a fucking legend."

"Shut up, all of you," snapped Chett. _Craster's daughters better be decent lays. I deserve to dine on something wet for putting up with these twats. Chett...a Lord! No, why not a King? King Chett of Craster's Keep – fuck that, Chett's Keep – and the first of his name. Last of his name too._

"Who did you have in mind for Lord Commander," asked Karl.

"Janos Slynt."

"I ain't working with no high-born fucks. Fuck you and yer bloody boils."

"Janos Slynt is a greedy, sniveling little half-wit who'll soil himself every time you speak to him. He'll wet himself every time he takes a look at you. Already took me the liberty of telling him you'd skin him alive if he didn't do as I said and now we own him. He was crying and begging me not to let you hurt him. He said you were a bloody legend in King's Landing." _If you believe he said that last bit, then yer the dumbest cunt on the face of the earth._

"He did? A legend? Of course he did; I am a legend, after all. The legend of Gin Alley they called me. Aye, mayhaps I could see my way to tolerating the man for a time, so long as he does as he's told."

"Good. And Slynt is a right proper highborn; he'll win Lord Commander when he runs, most like. That'll be like you being Lord Commander." _Or not... Everyone at the Wall will be so busy trying to find Lord Commander Mormont's killers that they'll never notice I've gone until I've finished putting Craster in the ground. Never seen the fucker before, but Rast said he was just an old man...an old man with hidden food stores and twenty or thirty daughters. Why should he get 'em all for himself? Craster – or whatever that Wildling cunt's name is – had his turn. Sounds like he has a good thing going. Better than he deserves! What about Chett? When do I get mine? The fuck's wrong with me? I'm gonna take everything from the old bastard. All for Chett! I deserve it, damn it!_

"And the rest of the men?"

"Tell Lord Commander Slynt that his first act will be to allow men of the Watch to lay with women again. What man wouldn't follow a Lord Commander who did that?"

"Jon Snow wouldn't," muttered Rast. "If yer smart, you'll kill him too and do it at the same time you kill the Old Bear. Bring Bowen Marsh into yer circle by convincing him that Jon supports Mormont's plan to let in the Wildlings. Get him to deal with Lord Snow. Jon will kill him and we can convince our brothers that the Wildling-loving bastard was plotting to kill the Watch's lead –"

"No one's talking to you," growled Karl as he sucker-punched Rast. "Yer as useless as a talking pussy, you know that? Why would anyone believe that Jon killed the Lord Commander? Eh?"

"He's right," whispered Chett. "They'll believe Jon did it. Thorne will convince them. We don't tell him about the plot, but we don't kill him neither. He'll support Slynt for Lord Commander, he always hated the Stark bastard and will believe the worst about him, he hates the Old Bear for agreeing to let the Wildlings in, and –"

"Everyone hates that prick. Why would anyone listen to Alliser Thorne," asked Dirk.

"Everyone hates him, aye. But they also know him for an honorable man too. They'll believe him, I'd wager. He'd do whatever he thought was best for the Watch. We just have to help him realize that the best thing for the Watch right now is to execute Lord Snow and make Janos Slynt the new Lord Commander."


	12. Joffrey I

**Joffrey**

"Remind your father that I am the King and I order him to return with to the capitol with his host."

"I can think of no better way to ensure that my father won't do something then for me to tell him that you ordered him to do it," replied the Imp.

"I...am...THE KING! That bastard can't just take my army and fight whoever he wants. I'll have his head on a spike for this!" _Traitors! They're everywhere! I'll kill them all!  
_  
"Your Grace, mayhaps it would be wise to set aside the matter of your Grandfather until you have dealt with Stannis Baratheon and Robb Stark."

"I suppose you're right; I'll deal with that traitor later. Now that you're Lord of Harrenhal, I might as well name you Lord Paramount of the Trident."

"Thank you, Your Grace," replied Lord Baelish. "It is an honor, although not half so great an honor as it is to serve a King as wise, brave, and noble as yourself. If ever Westeros had a truly great King, surely it was you. Give me leave to travel to the Eyrie, Your Grace, and I can promise you that I will return with an army of Vale knights ready to follow you into battle." The Spider sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. _I'll gouge your eyes out if you ever roll them at me again, you cockless cock._

"WHAT? Why would –"

"Mayhaps you didn't know, my Lord, but Lady Lysa has always been quite favorably disposed towards me."

"Yes, Yes, very well. Lord Baelish shall sail for Gulltown tomorrow morning," replied the King with a yawn. _Pity. Lord Baelish is the only loyal man on the Small Council. I'd have preferred to keep him in the capitol._

"But...he...very well, Your Grace," seethed the Imp. "Tell me, does it concern you in the least that your granduncle is dead?"

"Dead? You mean the Starks killed him," asked the King. Kevan Lannister was a useless old man to be sure, but his execution was treason all the same. _Would even Robb Stark dare to do such a thing? No, he's just a green boy and a mere pretender besides. This was his mother's work; she put him up to it. That much is certain. The fool's bitch mother rules the North through him, most like. It matters not at all; so long as I am King, treason shall never go unpunished._

"No, I mean they gave him a foot massage. Of course, I mean the Starks killed him. Ser Kevan was your bloody granduncle, you should at least pretend to care." _Once I've dealt with Stannis, I'll put your head on a spike for that. How dare you speak to me in such a manner! I suppose that traitor is far too dangerous to punish right now, but soon..._

"Why? The man was nothing to me. The House Stark's treason will be punished, but Devan –"

"Kevan."

"Right, that's what I said."

"You said...never mind." _That's right, you little monster. I'm the King and mother says that means the truth is whatever I want it to be. If I say that I said "Kevan," then that means I said "Kevan."_

"As I was saying, Kevan would have probably fallen off his horse and died within a fortnight anyway. We're better off without him. With any luck, my cunt of a grandfather will keel over next."

"Your Grace, Lord Tywin is a wise and honorable man. The Seven themselves could not have blessed you with a better counselor," blurted Pycelle. _Tywin's not even here, you senile, old fool. Pycelle has gone soft in the head, t_ he King decided. _Either that or he is simply a half-wit. Why else would he sing that Lannister craven's praises rather than my own. A blind man could see that I am the beginning of a dynasty that will last a thousand years. Lord Baelish realized it. He said Lannister name shall soon be lost in the sands of time, while the name Joffrey Baratheon will live on forever._

"Grand Maester Pycelle, I charge you with wasting my time. The penalty for this sin is death. You, dog, escort the Grand Maester to the black cells. Leave him there until he starves to death."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"But...But Your Grace, I...I..."

"The Small Council meeting is over. I think we've accomplished a great deal, my Lords," said the King with a smile as the Hound dragged away the Grand Maester. _One less traitor on the Small Council. It is still far to big for my liking. Lord Baelish is the only loyal man among them. If he continues to serve me well in the coming days, I shall name him Hand of the King once I've slain Stannis Baratheon in single combat._

...

It took several hours, but everything was finally ready. _All that's left now is to wait for that dumb bitch to wake up._ The King stood near Sansa Stark's bed and watched her as she slept. _Good, she's rolling around. She'll be covered in blood when she wakes up._ That was the real reason Pycelle had to die: so there would be blood to spread across Sansa's bed once she'd fallen asleep.It had been difficult to get into the room without waking her and Ser Meryn had to remove his armor beforehand. _Is he...no, I must be seeing things. Ser Meryn can't possibly be drooling. It just looks that way because there's so little light in the room, most like. Even so, mayhaps it would have been best to have the Hound assist me with this task instead. I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. Seven Hells, this is taking too long. I'm sick of waiting..._

"WAKE UP, YOU STUPID CUNT," screamed the King. Sansa opened her eyes and found herself staring directly at the rotting head of her father. Her scream was the loudest thing that Joffrey had ever seen in his life and nothing had ever pleased him more than the look of terror on the bitch's face. _That should teach your traitor brother not to execute my kin._


	13. Arya III

**Arya**

Arya fidgeted in her seat as Lord Bolton continued wasting the day writing more and more of his stupid messages. _Doesn't he ever get sick of writing? How many Lords could he even need to write to anyway? Is this what Lords do all day? I can't believe I ever wanted to be a stupid old Lord._ The dull monotony of it all was unbearable and before long, Arya was kicking at the ground in frustration. Lord Bolton glared at her. _Is he finally going to talk to me about something?_

"You will stop making whatever that noise was; I require silence." _Seven Hells!_

"Yes, my Lord," Arya groaned, letting out a frustrated sigh. _There's not even anything interesting in this stupid room. Some chairs, a stupid desk, a bookshelf, and...wait... I bet Lord Bolton has books about all sorts of things. He's a Lord so he probably gets to read about whatever he wants instead of just the boring ones that Septa Mordane kept trying to make me read. She can keep her stupid Seven Pointed Star, the Old Gods are the only ones I'll ever pray to. I bet those books are about things even old Maester Lewin has never heard of...or at least things father would've never let me read about. Lord Bolton will let me read them though; I know he will. He's my friend! And he never tries to force me to act like a stupid, boring, old Lady besides. Maybe there's even one about Visenya Targaryen or Queen Nymeria._

Arya quietly made her way to the bookshelf and grabbed a book from one of the lower shelves. _The Curse of Harren...wait...why are half of the pages missing?_ She tossed the tome aside and grabbed another book: _The Winds of Winter_ by Maester Martyn. _This stupid book doesn't have any pages either; none of them do. What's the point of a book with no pages?_ "That's barely even a book," Arya muttered to herself as she stormed back to her seat.

 _What's he even writing about anyway?_ She carefully crept towards Lord Bolton's desk. _Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Quiet as a mouse._ Arya peered over the edge of the desk and saw something about a bird and some dead fish when she noticed two pale, blue eyes staring directly at her.

It was never easy to tell what Lord Bolton was thinking. Sometimes he smiled when he was angry; other times he scowled when he was happy. This was not one of those times. His look was not one of anger or even annoyance, but of disappointment. Arya lowered her head with the shame of a son who had failed his father and sulked to the other end of the room without a word, never taking her eyes off the ground. _I shouldn't bother him like that when he's working. I made him wroth with me and the letter didn't even say anything interesting besides. He was just writing about some stupid old bird. He'll have to punish me now,_ Arya realized, as she slumped down into her seat. It was bad enough that Lord Bolton probably wouldn't let her ask any questions for the rest of the week, but what frustrated her most was that it was because of something so stupid.

There were certain things you had to know if you were living in Harrenhal. You had to know that no matter what Urswyck the Faithful threatened to do to you, he'd leave you alone as long as you said you thought he should lead the Brave Companions instead of Vargo Hoat. You had to know that if you ever annoyed Roose Bolton in any way, he'd get you for it. You'd probably never even realize that he had anything to do with what happened, but no matter how long it took, he'd always find a way... _He'd never hurt me though...not really. I bet Lord Bolton wouldn't sell his sister for some stupid old bridge_ , Arya thought to herself bitterly.

Even as she stared at the ground, Arya could feel the Lord of the Dreadfort's pale, blue eyes peering directly into her soul. Everyone at Winterfell always used to say that Boltons were evil and that you couldn't trust them. Old Nan even used to tell stories about how they'd kidnap little children – especially Starks – and gobble them up for supper or turn them into mindless slaves, but those were just stories for children. _I am not a child! I'm twelve and nearly a woman grown. I don't care if Roose is a stupid Bolton instead of a Stark. He's still part of my pack and a wolf just like me,_ she decided with a small smile. _He probably even has a list too and I bet everyone on it is afraid of him. No one will ever be afraid of me,_ Arya realized with more than a little bit of disappointment.

What began as mild disappointment quickly turned first to fear, then to panic, and finally to despair as her thoughts turned to the rest of her pack. There was one thing that almost all of them had in common: _They're either dead or they hate me, all of them except Jon and Lord Bolton. Jon lives at the Wall now, so I'll never see him again, most like. He's probably dead like father,_ she realized, chewing her lip nervously.

She'd asked Lord Bolton about Gendry and the next day, he'd told her that there were no smiths by that name among the prisoners, but Arya knew the truth. There was no point even asking about Hot Pie; the answer would be the same. _They ran away without even saying goodbye. They'd have left me behind if I hadn't told Ser Robett who I was, most like._ It hurt almost as much as finding out that her family would sell her to the Freys for a bridge. _Gendry probably still blames me for what happened to Lucan. Stupid...stupid, stubborn, old bull. It wasn't my fault. It wasn't! Robb's men weren't supposed to hurt the smallfolk. I didn't know. I even made sure Lord Bolton wouldn't let anything happen to him. How can he blame me for that stupid, old goat? I didn't know, you stupid...stubborn...I didn't..._ Arya tried not to cry, but it was no use and a flood of tears made its way down her cheeks until she finally wiped them away on her right sleeve.

When she first learned that her family had traded her to the Freys for a bridge – no, not even for a bridge, just to cross a someone else's stupid bridge once or twice – it seemed like the worst part was learning just how little she was worth to her mother and older brother, but not even that hurt half so much as the fact that her mother still hadn't replied to the raven Lord Bolton sent to let her know that one of her daughters was safe. _She didn't even care. Neither of them did... They'd care if Sansa was safe though; mother would travel to Harrenhal herself, most like. If they didn't need to cross the Frey's bridge, would Robb and mother have just sold me to the least favorite son of some other horrible old Lord?_

 _Lord Bolton doesn't hate me, but if he has to keep punishing me for bothering him while he's trying to work... I won't bother him like that anymore. I...I'll find something else to do when he doesn't want to talk. I can't lose him too! I'll never see Jon again and father, Bran, and Rickon are all dead. That means Lord Bolton is the only one left who still cares what happens to me. He doesn't try to make me act like a boring old Lady and sometimes he even lets me ask more than one question if it's about something important. He can't be like the Boltons in Old Nan's stories! He didn't lock me up in some dungeon. He told mother and Robb where I was – not that they cared – and lets me stay in his solar while he works._

Suddenly, she felt a pang of guilt for having been annoyed with her friend for spending so much time every day writing messages to other Lords. _Even if they are boring, he wouldn't spend so much time on them unless they were important. Maybe they just seem boring because they're in some sort of code...maybe. It...it doesn't matter. I won't disappoint Lord Bolton ever again. I'll be good from now on, he'll see! I'll be quiet as a mouse for the rest of the day just like he wants me to be_ , Arya promised herself with a smile.

"Talk," said a voice as soft as a whisper.

"What?"

"Once you began crying, it was plain that you had no intention of permitting me to accomplish anything. It is difficult to concentrate when someone is kicking the floor, tossing books about, and crying for no apparent reason" _I made him wroth with me again? Already? But...but...I..._

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, I –" The Lord of the Dreadfort sighed loudly.

"Yes, yes, yes, very good. You are forgiven. I can only assume these outbursts were borne of boredom. If so, then I fear ignoring you will simply make it worse."

"You're not angry?"

"If I were, I assure you that it would have been plain some time ago."

"Would not! You never tell people that you're angry with them."

"No?" Arya shook her head vigorously.

"No. Sometimes they don't know even after you gotten revenge on them."

"Revenge is such an ugly word. A word for fools who cannot control their emotions, I think. Whenever I act against a man, I do so only after carefully considering the cost and benefits of doing so. Revenge is...well...revenge is a word that my bastard would use." Arya couldn't tell whether the Lord of the Dreadfort was joking or not, but she knew better than to ask. She also knew that he did things to people all the time simply because they'd annoyed him once and it amused him to see them uncomfortable. _That's why he used to make Elmar Frey handle all the leeches with his bare hands, most like._

"You shouldn't call him a bastard. He probably hates that word."

"No doubt. We will not discuss Lord Snow. It is far too early in the afternoon for a leeching and I fear I shall require one if I hear another word about that fool. Is that understood?" Arya nodded. "You are still capable of speech, are you not?"

"It's hard to have a conversation without asking questions, my Lord. And I'm saving mine so that I can ask two tomorrow besides."

"As you say. Very well, just this once, I will permit you to ask as many questions as you wish...at least for a time." This was the last thing that Arya had expected him to do. Not only wasn't it a punishment, it was a reward!

"Thank you...I mean...thank you, my Lord."

"You may thank me by being silent while I work once our conversation has concluded."

"I will be, I promise."

"Good. Now then, why were you crying earlier? Do I frighten you so terribly?"

"No. You don't scare me...not really."

"Are you quite certain," asked Lord Bolton in a voice as sharp as a knife. "You aren't afraid I'll flay you and cook you for supper?"

"I know the stories about your House are just stories. And even if someone in your House did that once, I don't care what some stupid Stark or Bolton did 1,000 years ago. The Lannisters are the ones who should be afraid; not me. Robb's going to kill all of them, every last one. And I'm too small to make a proper supper besides."

"As you say. Tell me, do you know why my more willful ancestors worked so hard to spread such stories?"

"If other Houses are afraid of what you do to your enemies, they're less likely to challenge you. Only..."

"Yes?"

"You don't actually do those things because then other Houses would hate you and make alliances against you." Lord Bolton gave a small nod of approval.

"Clever girl. You've always been smarter than your kin gave you credit for, haven't you?"

"Mother never listened to me about anything. She just wanted me to be a boring, old Lady like Sansa."

"Pity. Mayhaps if you had a seat on King Robb's Small Council instead of that fat fool Lord Manderly, the Lannisters would've surrendered by now."

"Thank you, my Lord," said Arya with a wide smile, content with the knowledge that Lord Bolton still wanted to be her friend.

"A pity you'll never have an opportunity to travel to the Dreadfort."

"Why would I want...I mean...the Dreadfort doesn't sound like what you'd call a castle that was safe to visit." Arya began fidgeting nervously as Lord Bolton sighed in disappointment. _He's probably wroth with me because he knows that I don't want to visit his stupid castle. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"A wise man does not judge things by what they sound like. For instance, you sound like a frightened little girl. Is that what you are?"

"Hey! I'm not –"

"Not a frightened little girl? You could have fooled me. Even your sister Sansa wouldn't have been half so scared of the mere name of a castle, I think."

"I AM NOT AFRAID!" _That's not fair! He doesn't even know Sansa and now he thinks she's braver than me. She already has everyone else except Jon. Lord Bolton's my friend, not hers._

"I believe you, my Lady."

"I'm not a Lady."

"Then why have you decided to act like one? No one at the Dreadfort would care if a girl wanted to learn how to fight with a sword or ride a horse instead of stitching. Even my bastard oft takes women with him when he goes hunting."

"Really? I didn't know –"

"Yes...not that such things would interest you, my Lady."

"I said I'm not a stupid Lady." _I'm not afraid; he'll see. I'll find out everything there is to know about the Deadfort or whatever that stupid place is called._ "And I'd go there if Robb would let me."

"Would you?"

"Yes. I'm not lying; I promise! I'm not a Lady and I'm not afraid of you or your stupid castle either," Arya insisted defiantly, looking the Lord of the Dreadfort directly in the eye.

"Clearly not. That is good to know."

"What is?"

"That I was right about you. You're much too brave to be a proper Lady, I think. Far braver than your sister, most like. No doubt that is the reason that you made it this far."

"Thank you, my Lord. I didn't mean to insult your castle."

"It matters not at all. The Dreadfort has survived worse."

"Did you...I mean...how well did you know my father?" Lord Bolton's lips twisted into a thin smile. "King Robb cares little and less for my counsel, I think. However, Lord Eddard counted me among his closest friends. I fought with him during the Battle of the Trident. Did you know that?"

"You did? Really?"

"Yes. He was mayhaps the wisest Lord that Winterfell ever had. And like all wise men, he surrounded himself with other wise men, myself among them. Your father always heeded my counsel."

"But then why didn't he ever ask you to visit Winterfell? I saw almost every other Lord there at least once. Why wouldn't –"

"Would you like to hear a story about your father?"

"YES!" Lord Bolton dryly told a tale about the time Arya's father slew the Sword of the Morning – Ser Arthur Dayne – all by himself. She'd heard every version of the story hundreds of times, but it didn't matter. Hearing other people talk about her father always made Arya sad, but it was also the only way she could remember him without seeing Joffrey, the Queen, Ser Ilyn, and...Sansa. _I could've saved him somehow. I could have... Robb won't let the Lannisters win! Never! He'll kill them all for what they did to father, every one._

"Is something troubling you?"

"No, my Lord. I just..."

"You were thinking about what the Lannisters did to your father, weren't you?" Arya nodded.

"I was there. I saw it. It...it's my fault he's dead. I should have done...something."

"Your father would've wanted you to escape from King's Landing, I think. It would not serve for you to die in a doomed attempt to save him."

"But –"

"Your father loved you dearly. He would've gladly traded his life for yours, whatever Lady Catelyn may think..."

"Whatever my mother thinks? Why would she talk to you about me unless..."

"I misspoke, it matters not at all. We shall not discuss this any further."

"You did not! My mother answered the raven you sent to Riverrun, didn't she? I know she did! I can tell when you're lying."

"I fear I must ask your forgiveness," Lord Bolton replied mildly. "Your mother responded to the raven that I sent King Robb informing him that I had found you at Harrenhal. I burned it as I do all my correspondences once I have read them."

"I don't understand. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I had hoped that I might be able to spare you some pain, but you are Lady Catelyn's daughter. I suppose you have the right to hear her words." Arya found that she was far too excited to be angry at the Lord of the Dreadfort for not telling her the moment that he received the message.

"What did she say? When can I see her? What about Robb? Have they heard anything about Sansa? I don't still have to marry a Frey now that Elmar's dead, do I? Are you sure you burned –"

"Yes, yes, I am quite certain I burned the message. Your mother missed you, no doubt, only..."

"What's wrong? Are they alright? Please, tell me!"

"As you wish. How can I put this? Your mother was disappointed when she learned that I had found you."

"What do you mean," asked Arya hoping the answer wasn't what she already knew it to be.

"If I tell you, I must have your word that you will not speak a word of this to your mother or King Robb when you see them. It would not serve for them to be wroth with me at this time."

"I...I promise. I won't tell them. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

"Very well. Your mother wrote that she prayed day and night for her daughter to be returned to her...and was most wroth when she learned that her prayers were for naught."

"But the Old Gods must have answered her prayers. You're going to take me to Riverrun and –"

"And you were not the daughter she wanted. Lady Catelyn made it quite plain in her letter that she prayed only for the return of your sister. She missed you, no doubt, but...well...every parent has their regrets. Mayhaps you were one of hers."

"That's not true. I'm her daughter, she has to love me at least a little bit...doesn't she?"

"The truth is seldom a pleasing thing and yet we must suffer it all the same." Arya had already begun to suspect that her mother only wanted Sansa back, but it hurt to have her worst fears confirmed all the same.

"I can act like a proper Lady. Maybe not like Sansa, but I...I can do it! I really can! Watch," Arya begged as she began frantically trying to get the knots out of her hair. Soon her hair was even more hopelessly tangled than ever before. _I will not cry. I am a direwolf. Direwolves don't...they don't..._ It was no use and soon bitter tears flowed from her sad, grey eyes like twin rivers of pain and loneliness.

"It would matter not at all. Your mother makes do with you in the same way that I have made do with my bastard. Lady Catelyn wrote that she oft wishes she'd drank moon tea before you were born. Did you know that?"

"She wouldn't say that! Sh...she wouldn't...she..." _She's my mother! She has to love me...even just a little bit. Maybe Lord Bolton is just misremembering...maybe._

Arya tried to remember the times that her mother comforted her when she was sad, how she fiercely her mother would hold hug her when she was afraid. Somehow the happy memories seemed just out of reach. All the sad, lonely little girl could remember were the times her mother scolded her for not acting like a proper Lady, threatened to send her off to live with the Wildlings if she kept eating so messily, and all the times her mother told her to be more like her stupid, perfect sister. _Was that all there was? No!_

 _My mother loves me; I know she does...just less than my brothers and sisters is all. If she had to choose one daughter to save, she'd pick Sansa, but maybe she'll let me live at Winterfell now that there aren't any stupid bridges to sell me for...maybe._

"In truth, I would not be surprised if your kin blame you for Lord Eddard's death. It was not your fault, of course, but I imagine that they are quite used to blaming you for anything bad that happens to your House and...well...men see what they look for. Women too, I think."

"But I wanted to save him! I did! Really! I was going to, but then Yoren made me look away," Arya whimpered.

"Why did you let this Yoren interfere? Didn't you want to save your father?" _Does Lord Bolton hate me too? I could run away from Harrenhal and live at the Wall. Jon would forgive me, I know he would._

"What...what was I even supposed to do? There were soldiers everywhere and –"

"Would that stop your father if your life were in danger?"

"No. I'm sorry, I..."

"Why? A wise man knows when to act and when to wait. Lashing out like a rabid dog is easy. Waiting patiently for the right moment to dispose of an enemy is far more difficult...though more rewarding, I think."

"You're not...you're not mad at me?"

"I already said that your father's death was not your fault, did I not? Joffrey Lannister gave the order and you didn't intervene because you are not a fool. Do you understand?" Arya nodded. She knew that the Lord of the Dreadfort was just saying that to make her feel better, but she wiped away her tears and tried to force herself to believe him all the same.

"It wasn't just Joffrey. It was the Queen and Ser Ilyn too."

"As you say."

"I'll kill them for what they did...someday. Joffrey. The Queen. Ser Ilyn. The Hound. The Mountain. Ser Meryn. Tywin Lann –"

"All by yourself? Aren't you a dangerous little thing," said Lord Bolton as flicker of amusement crept across his face. "I'm sure Ser Gregor Clegane trembles in fear at the mere thought of your wrath."

"No one would ever be afraid of me," Arya muttered, kicking at the ground.

"In truth, there are ways of making even the bravest of men fear you with a single look."

"Teach me how."

"Very well." Lord Bolton spent the next ten minutes lecturing about how to hide one's emotions, teaching Arya how to scowl and stare menacingly, and explaining the power of a protracted pause. _No one will ever call me "lumpyhead" or "Arya Horseface" ever again_ , the Lone Wolf thought to herself with a smile. _If they do, I'll be able to shut them up with a single look._

...

 _Where are all of the wolves? Did Vargo Hoat and his men kill all of them? Why aren't they howling,_ Arya wondered as she locked the door to the small room where she slept each night. It was cramped and when Lord Bolton first required her to sleep there, it oft felt like a dungeon cell. However, she'd become more and more comfortable with it as the days went by. _It's not so bad...not really. The room is just...small is all. And I don't need a large room besides._ It was a safe place to sleep and that was all that mattered.

*Creek* _What was that?_ *Creeeek* Whatever the noise was, it was coming from the other side of the door. *CREEEEEEEK*

"Who...who's there?" *CREEEEEEEEEEEEK* Sansa might've screamed or hid under her sheets, but Arya wasn't afraid; she slowly made her way to the door. *CREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK* _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._ *click*

Arya lowered her head to look through the keyhole when the door suddenly slammed open, hitting her in the face. The force of the blow knocked her to the ground and when she looked up, there was a man standing in the doorway. He had a long goatee and was holding a bloody knife in his right hand. "Do you want to find out what happenth to little girlth who thcream?" Arya shook her head. _Not today! Not today! Not today!_

"Lord Bolt–"

"I don't therve Lord Bolton anymore; you dumb bitch. Hith Grace Joffrey Baratheon, the one true King of the Theven Kingdomth will make me Lord of Harrenhal thoon...and not jutht in name."

"You already betrayed the Lannisters. They'll kill you, stupid," snapped Arya, hoping it was true as she tried to stare at the Goat of Harrenhal the way Lord Bolton had taught her. Lord Vargo didn't look very frightened. _Am I doing it wrong?_

"They won't care. Not once they thee the gift that I've brought them."

"Go run back to them then. If you leave now, maybe Lord Bolton will give you a head start before he kills you...maybe."

"Not afraid of me? But you thould be, m'Lady. You really, really thould be..."

"I'm not a –"

"Don't you ever thtop talking, you dumb bitch?" In one swift motion, the Goat put his knife in it's sheath, grabbed Arya by the neck, and lifted her off the ground in one swift motion. "Of courthe, I've never had a highborn cunt before. No reathon I can't have thome fun before I give you to thothe golden-haired thitth once we've gotten away from thith bloody cathtle...ith there, Lady Arya?" _Not today! Not today! Not today!_


	14. Catelyn I

**Catelyn**

 _He's dead._ It hadn't even been a battle, not if the survivors were to be believed. Tywin's men were exactly where Robb said they'd be, but it was a trap. The Tyrells surrounded them and swatted his entire host like a fly. _I told him not to do it. I begged him, I warned him, I pleaded with him. Whatever mistakes I've made, I knew this would be a massacre. Seven help me, I knew. I could feel it in my bones. Why wouldn't he listen? Was it because of the Kingslayer? I had to free him. It was the only way to make the Lannisters return Sansa and Arya. They must see that... I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it? Robb ignored my warnings and now my uncle is dead._

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door and before Catelyn could reply, her brother entered the room wearing the same bitter scowl he'd greeted her with ever since she'd traded the Kingslayer's life for the lives of her daughters.

"His Grace wishes to speak with you," muttered the Lord of Riverrun in a voice so cold it would have made the Others shiver.

"Am I to wear manacles every time I see my son?"

"You can wear them for the rest of your damn life for all I care."

"Edmure, I –"

"You what? Do you have any idea what you've done? You didn't just free the Kingslayer, Cat. You humiliated me. Robb trusted me with his most valuable prisoner and you freed him. You released the Kingslayer and gave Tywin Lannister his heir back for nothing." _Nothing? How can you say that?_

"I traded the Kingslayer for my daughters...for your nieces. Do Sansa and Arya's lives truly mean nothing to you? Mayhaps if you had children of your own –"

"I'd feel the same way. Lords don't have the luxury of letting our emotions and selfish desires run wild as yours so plainly have."

"You have no right to speak to me or anyone else of selfishness. It was your hunger for glory that allowed Tywin Lannister to survive the trap that Robb laid for him. Lord Tywin is already in King's Landing by now, most like. And with a Tyrell army at his back besides. Stannis may not even attack King's Landing. Thanks to you, he'd probably have better luck landing sailing for the Wall. Your King gave you an order and had you followed it, the war might've been over by now. You were also the fool who convinced my son to execute the late Lord Karstark instead of keeping him as a hostage. If only you were half the man our father was... Ned would've understood why I traded the Kingslayer for –"

"Ned Stark is dead. What he would or wouldn't have done doesn't matter anymore." Catelyn tried to raise her hand to slap her brother, but she couldn't get her left arm far enough from her right.

"This is why we keep you chains, sweet sister." _How could Hoster Tully have ever had a son like you? Even Jon Snow would've made a better Lord,_ Catelyn thought to herself as she glared at her brother the way she'd oft seen Cersei Lannister stare at Robert Baratheon when they visited Winterfell.

"House Tully's words are 'Family, Duty, Honor.' Family comes first for a reason, not that I'd expect a man like you to understand the meaning of any of those words, much less all three. Until you can see why your nieces lives were worth more than the Kingslayer's, I no longer have a brother. Now are you going to bring me to my son or have you decided to disobey your King yet again?"

...

"Leave us, Lord Edmure."

"At once, Your Grace."

"At least you had the decency to remove my chains," Catelyn muttered bitterly. _Robb may be a King, but I am still his mother. Forcing me to wear chains as I spoke to him would've been a betrayal in-and-of-itself._

"Do you have even the slightest idea what you have done by releasing the Kingslayer?"

"Did you bring me here to deliver the same tired lecture I've heard every day from my brother ever since I traded the Kingslayer for Sansa and Arya. They're your sisters...or have you forgotten?"

"I am a King and that means I am responsible for more than just my kin. I must needs think of what is best for the entire North. Father would've said the same thing if he were here."

"Thinking of what's best for the entire North? Is that what you were doing when you reneged on your agreement with Lord Walder? And your father would've done anything to save your sisters."

"Saved them," seethed Robb, plainly unable to contain his anger any longer. "Is that what you think you did by freeing the Kingslayer? You freed him for nothing. Lord Edmure proved that he understood the meaning of the words 'family, duty, honor' when he agreed to marry one of Lord Walder's daughters in my place. I'd have hoped those words might still mean something to you, mother. Lord Edmure thinks that you never truly recovered from father's murder and I am starting to fear that he was right."

"Listen to me, Robb, and listen carefully. I freed the Kingslayer to –"

"Yes, yes, to save my sisters. Even if we could trust the word of a Kingslayer, it wouldn't matter. The Lannisters only have Sansa; Arya is no longer their hostage, if she ever was." _Could Tywin Lannister have spies in Riverrun? Was this his revenge for the death of his brother? First Ned, then Bran and Rickon, then Uncle Brynden, and now Arya...all gone. And I'll never see Sansa again..._ For all that Catelyn loved her daughters, there was a part of her that couldn't help feeling a small hint of relief that the Lannisters had chosen to spare Sansa's life. She loved all her children fiercely and yet she had always known that if she could save only one of her daughters, she would've chosen her eldest without a second thought. No matter how much she hated herself for it, there was no sense pretending otherwise.

"How did she die?"

"She is alive and well."

"What? But that's –"

"We just received a raven from Lord Bolton. He claims that Arya somehow managed to escape from King's Landing and make her way to Harrenhal." _Arya is alive?_

"How? I...I don't understand. That's impossible."

"We shall find out soon enough. I've sent a raven instructing Lord Bolton to ride for Riverrun with a host as soon as he deems it safe leave Harrenhal. With any luck, Arya can wed Waltyr Frey while we're at the Twins. Lord Bolton mentioned that Elmar Frey has passed away and Lord Walder will no doubt expect her to wed his next youngest son."

"You can't do that to her. Robb, it's...it's too cruel."

"What would you have me do, mother? Break my word to the man a second time?"

"Surely there must be some way to delay the wedding...at least until she's had a chance to visit Winterfell one last time. This is –"

"You once said that you've known Lord Walder since you were a little girl. During all those years, did he ever strike you as a forgiving or accommodating man. Do you think he will have any interest in long betrothals after what I did?" _Must Arya pay for your sins? No...Robb has the right of it. No matter how much we may hate it...no matter how much Arya may hate us for it, he is simply doing what must needs be done._

"And Sansa?"

"Dead, most like. Were the Kingslayer still a hostage, she might have survived despite Ser Kevan's murder, but now... How do you think Tywin Lannister will avenge his brother's murder?"


	15. Arya IV

**Arya**

At Winterfell, Arya would oft pretend that she had to fight off six men at once – each ten times as dangerous as Vargo Hoat – all by herself. She'd pick up a stick and pretend it was a sword. Sometimes she wouldn't even bother pretending it was a sword. _I don't even need a sword to beat them,_ Arya would tell herself. Sword-fighting – even if it was just with a small branch – always seemed so easy back then and she always imagined herself dodging every blow with such speed that she didn't even need a shield. Within twenty seconds – thirty if she decided to go easy on them – her imaginary foes were all begging for mercy. It wasn't real, but Arya practiced so much that she was shocked when Syrio Forrel showed her just how much she had left to learn.

Even if there would always be someone better, Arya had been certain that if anyone tried to hurt her or capture her, she'd be able to fight them off without breaking a sweat...and that was before Jon gave her Needle. _Sansa might get frightened or quietly do as she was bid, but not me. I am a direwolf and I am not afraid_ , she'd oft tell herself. There were even days when Ned Stark's youngest daughter hoped someone would try to kill or capture her because she knew her bravery would so impress the rest of the North that her father would have to let her become a Lord or maybe even have a seat on the Small Council someday. Those were the days when she lived with her whole family, when the King was her father's best friend, and when it seemed as though the summer would never end.

But those days had come and gone...the Lannisters saw to that when they took off her father's head. _Father's dead and Theon Turncloak murdered Bran and Rickon before he burned Winterfell to the ground. Sansa's dead too, most like. Jon decided to spend the rest of his life at the stupid Wall and now I'll never see Lord Bolton again either. Mother, Robb, Gendry, and Hot Pie are alive, but they all hate me. No, Robb doesn't hate me. He doesn't even care enough to do that, most like. If he loves that stupid old bridge so much, he should just marry it_ , Arya thought to herself bitterly.

As Lord Vargo slung Arya over his shoulder and her face slammed into the short man's chest, the reality of what was about to happen slowly began to dawn on her. For all the times she'd imagined herself fearlessly facing off against far more dangerous adversaries, Arya found that she could not be brave. When Lord Vargo told her that he knew her secret and was going to take her back to the Lannisters as soon as he finished raping her, something deep inside of the lone wolf shattered into a million pieces. _He can't take me back to King's Landing, not now! I was so close! Even if they hate me, Mother and Robb are still part of my pack; I have to find them! Did Lord Bolton only become part of my pack so that I could lose him too?_ It felt as though everything that had happened since she escaped from King's Landing was part of some cruel joke and the Old Gods were laughing at her just like everyone else. _Jon never laughed at me...not really._

But the worst part was that not matter how hard she tried, Arya couldn't force herself to fight back. Her whole body seemed to go numb and she couldn't even will herself to scream or insult Lord Vargo...not anymore. It was nothing like what Arya had imagined when she played with branches Winterfell's Godswood. _I'm just a stupid, scared little girl like Sansa and not a wolf at all_ , she thought to herself sadly as Lord Vargo slipped out the door and crept past the dead body of Walton Steelshanks.

"Playing dead won't help you tomorrow morning. I'd fuck you bloody even if you were dead," whispered the Goat, snapping Arya out of her stupor. He stopped to kick Walton's body and upon seeing no movement, bent down to search the dead man for coppers.

"Nothing clever to thay? Pity. I wath hoping you'd put up more of a fight. Mayhapth a bit of kicking at leatht. A bitch thath already broken ithn't half ath much fun. I wath looking forward to watching the latht bit of hope leave your face. Hmm...mayhapth you jutht don't underthtand what ith going to happen tomorrow. Don't worry, we can fix that right now. I'm going to unlace my britcheth and you are going to thuck on what I pull out until I tell you to thtop...or rather you'll thuck and thwallow until I tell you thtop. You know what they thay, it thuckth to thuckth. Well...mayhapth that doethn't have to come firtht. Tell me, m'Lady, would you prefer to give me your maidenhead before or after I fill your belly with my theed? Oh and don't worry about what will happen if I get you with child. Athuming you've already bled, I'll jutht beat you until the remnantth of the bathtard leave you. I learned that trick from a former Maethter. Thteelthankth, you thon of a whore, you didn't even have a thingle copper on you. Cheap bathtard."

 _A child? His seed? He's going to... I won't! Never! I won't be Arya Stark any more if... He can't; I won't let him make me no one. I won't cry. I am a direwolf. Direwolves don't cry. I won't let him! Never!_ Arya screamed as loudly as she could, as much in anger as in terror. A single thought raced through her mind as though it were the only word she'd ever known: _No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!_

Without even realizing what she was doing, Arya grabbed the first thing she saw within reach and began hitting Lord Vargo with it over and over again. The Goat dropped her, fell to the ground clutching his groin, and began howling in pain so loudly that one could be forgiven for assuming he'd shattered every piece of glass in Harrenhal. Without thinking, Arya got right back up, jumped on top of the wounded man, and began hitting him with the object over and over again.

First the Goat's screams turned into quiet whimpers, then he grew completely silent as his limbs began to jerk about aimlessly, and even these sudden movements soon turned to small twitches. Arya didn't notice and she began hitting the man's face over and over again even though he had already stopped moving a long time ago. Something red began to splatter out from inside of the Goat like the juice from an exploding watermelon, but it didn't matter...nothing else did. Not survival, not her list, not even her pack. Time itself seemed to stop in its tracks. Only one thing mattered and Arya screamed it over and over again like a wolf howling at the full moon: "No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No!"

It wasn't until Lord Bolton carefully pulled Arya off Vargo Hoat's mangled remains and forced her to drop her weapon that she realized she had grabbed the Goat's dirk from his belt and was covered in his blood. There was a human eye speared on the blade when she dropped the dagger and Lord Bolton crushed a second one beneath his right boot. _W-What...what happened? Where did Lord B-B-Bolton come...come fruh-from...how...but I..._ She glanced at the ground and saw something that might have been a human body, but was so covered in bloody stab wounds that it was impossible to say. Both of the corpse's hands were shredded nearly beyond recognition and each of its fingers were either missing or had been sheered of all flesh. The Goat's entrails were sprawled out across the floor and there was a mangled pink sack hanging out of his belly. The red hole in the middle of Lord Vargo's face made it appear as though someone had tried to hack off his nose with a dull blade, but made a hash of it and cut off his upper lip as well. Something white was dripping from a second twisted gash that might've once been the dead man's mouth.

Arya had killed a stableboy once when she escaped King's Landing, but this was different. Vargo Hoat looked like he'd been mauled by wolves. And the stableboy had been an accident besides. _Luh-Lord...Lord...B-Buh-Bolt-Bolt-Bolton muh-must have duh-done that...I...I c-c-couldn't...I didn't...I...what...what's ha-happening...I...I..._

"Syllables and sentences. This incoherent babbling will not serve. And you disposed of our fine friend on your own, I think," said the Lord of the Dreadfort mildly as he released the twitching, trembling girl. Arya realized that she couldn't feel her legs – or anything else, for that matter – and she immediately fell face-first onto the ground, landing right next to a severed ear.

"Was...did I...out luh-loud...did...did I s-s-say that?"

"Yes. Now then, did Lord Vargo force himself upon you?"

"N-n-no. I...I...no...he was...said...he...he s-said he was...was go-going to...I think."

"As you say. Are you hurt? You look as though you've been dipped from head to toe in a barrel of blood. Goat's blood, I think."

"G-G-Goats? What? But I...I duh-don't...don't see any...I...I...no...n-not hurt. B-b-blood? But...that...that's not muh-my b-b-bluh...I..."

"Good, then we have suffered no great loss. Walton Steelshanks is nothing if not replaceable. I fear that is the best thing that can be said of a man like him," said Lord Bolton as he lifted Arya off the ground and made his way to his solar. "Once you have calmed yourself, we shall speak further."

"Yes, m-my Lor...my L-Lord."

...

It took forty minutes for Arya to fully regain control of her body and another thirty for her to be able to speak without stuttering or babbling like a half-wit.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" The Lord of the Dreadfort sighed loudly. _He probably hates me now...just like everyone else. No one should want me any more after what I did. I didn't just kill him, I butchered him. Mother and Robb might even send me back King's Landing. They'll send me to Skagos or trade me to the Lannisters for Sansa...maybe. No, that's stupid. All I was worth to them before was a stupid bridge. Now they'll just banish me from the North, most like._

"I didn't mean to kill him...not really."

"No? You certainly could have fooled me. Lord Vargo looked as though he'd been mauled by a pack of hounds."

"Hounds?"

"Yes. I have seen what they can do to a...stray."

"I'm sorry! I really am, I promise! I didn't even know what I was doing, I...I don't even remember. It was all a blur and –"

"Why are you sorry?"

"What?"

"What is it that you think you have to be sorry for," asked Lord Bolton with a hint of amusement.

"I killed Lord Vargo."

"He was going to rape you, was he not?"

"Yes, I mean, I think so, only...I didn't just kill him. He doesn't even look like a person anymore...not really."

"No, but it sounds as though our fine friend left you now choice. Goats should know better than to attack wolves, I think," replied Lord Bolton in a voice that suggested he considered the night's events to be an everyday occurrence."

"You...you're not angry at me?"

"No, of course not. Only a fool would be angry at you for what you have done. I am quite proud of you, in truth. My son was two years older than you when he finally killed his first...enemy. Of course, my bastard started much earlier than you, but I fear he has been a disappointment in other ways."

"Proud? I don't understand; father always said that –"

"What you did was not a crime. It was justice and who doesn't wish to see the wicked punished for their crimes from time to time? You should take pride in your work, I think."

"My work?"

"Yes. Lord Vargo tried to rape you and you butchered him as was your right. When a man wrongs you, it is your duty to dispose of him in whatever manner you see fit."

"What I did...that was justice? Really?"

"Of course it was. Tell me, was Lord Vargo on that list of yours?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"You see, you've already crossed off one name. Who knows? Mayhaps in time you will even cross off another." Despite being covered in Lord Vargo's blood, Arya couldn't help smiling ever so slightly at that remark.

"Mother and Robb wouldn't think it was justice."

"No?"

"Neither of them would understand...not really. They'd never want me back if they knew what I did."

"They don't want you back already, I think."

"Please, don't tell them. They wouldn't even look at me again if they knew. Please, I –"

"Very well. It shall be our secret."

"Thank you, my Lord. I think...I think I would like to visit the Dreadfort after all."

"Mayhaps you will one day."

"Robb and mother would never let me."

"It seems an absurd custom, but I am told that children find this comforting," muttered Lord Bolton as he approached Arya and mussed her messy, blood-soaked hair the way Jon used to before he left for the Wall. The reminder of her favorite brother – as small as it was – prompted Arya to hug the Lord of the Dreadfort the much the same way that a frightened child might hug their mother.

"What are you doing," asked Lord Bolton in a voice dripping with such cold contempt that Arya immediately let go and stumbled backward in surprise. It was a tone she'd never heard him speak in before – to her or to anyone else – and for a moment Arya was certain that there had to be someone else in the room.

"Sorry, my Lord. I...I didn't mean to anger you, it's just...didn't your children ever hug you?"

"No. And I would've never dreamed of behaving in such a manner toward my father."

"No one has ever hugged you? Not even once?"

"Never," growled the Lord of the Dreadfort. "I do not like to be touched. See that you do not do it again."

"But I only...sorry, my Lord. I...I promise never to do it again." _Lord Bolton is a very strange man. It doesn't matter; he's still my best friend. And he's part of my pack besides. He'll always be my friend,_ Arya decided.

"Very well. In light of your achievement this evening, I shall let this...unfortunate incident slide so long as it never happens again."

"What did you mean when you said your natural-born son had started when he was much younger than I am? Why would he –"

"I have a gift for you."

"A gift? Why?"

"At the Dreadfort, a man's first kill is a coming of age moment of sorts. Yours should be no different."

"But I'm not a Bolton."

"As you say." After rummaging through one of the drawers in his desk, Lord Bolton presented Arya with a strange knife with a thin, hooked blade.

"Is that a –"

"A flaying knife? Yes."

"But flaying isn't allowed. Father said –"

"Your father and I were good friends. Do you truly believe I would flay people if he had forbidden it?" _You might do it if you knew no one would ever find out,_ Arya thought to herself, but she knew better than to say so and simply shook her head.

"Good. If you flay a man properly, he will tell you whatever you want to know. Of course, this is far from the only purpose that my House's tradition serves. Flaying is justice. Flaying is vengeance. Flaying is how my House has chosen to dispose of men who wrong us...men like Vargo Hoat. Your method served its purpose, but...well...I fear Lord Vargo died long before you finished your work. Surely there must be some part of you that would have liked to have seen your attacker suffer for his crimes before he died."

"But –"

"Justice may seem harsh at times, but it is nothing to be ashamed of; we should take pleasure in punishing the wicked. Well, what are you waiting for? Go on, take it." Arya hesitated for a moment before finally accepting the knife, lest she risk angering her friend.

"Thank you, my Lord."

"You are welcome. Oh and one more thing, don't let your mother or brother see you with that."

"I promise! It...it shall be our secret." The Lord of the Dreadfort nodded approvingly.

"Lord Bolton?"

"Yes?"

"My brother, Jon, he...he once gave me a sword. I named it Needle and I thought...can I...would it be alright if I named my flaying knife?"

"It is your blade; you may do with it as you please. I was going to give it to my bastard as a nameday gift, but I suppose he shall have to do without. It matters not at all. Do you know what we say about flaying knives at the Dreadfort?"

"No, my Lord."

"Our blades are sharp."

"Our blades are sharp?"

"Spoken like a proper Lady of the Dreadfort," replied the Lord of the Dreadfort as a flicker of amusement crept across his face.

"I'm not a Lady."

"As you say. Ladies do not spend their nights drenched in the blood of would-be rapers, I think. Tell me, what do you intend to name your blade?" Arya already knew the answer to that question; she'd known it from the moment she first held the flaying knife in her hand.

"Flaying knives are House Bolton's vengeance. This one can be my Vengeance."


	16. Tyrion II

**Tyrion**

The Hound had turned away in fear the moment that Blackwater Bay transformed into a green inferno. The King gazed at the green Hell with an almost religious reverence, as though he had looked upon the Seven themselves and been rendered speechless by the sight of something beyond man's understanding. Lord Wisdom Hallyne wore the loving smile of a mother cradling a newborn babe in her arms and was jumping up and down so giddily that it seemed only a matter of time until he began moaning with orgasmic pleasure. Ser Lancel's wits, such as they were, seemed to abandon him completely for a time and he seemed incapable of doing anything other than silently watching the scene as his jaw hung open and his eyes grew so wide that a man could've been forgiven for mistaking him for a lobotomized owl.

And still other men – those whose names the histories never remember and whose songs are destined to remain unsung – were no doubt experiencing countless other emotions. In a matter of seconds, most of Stannis Baratheon's fleet was reduced to a pile of ashes that the wind would soon scatter across the burning green sea. It was a miracle, but in both the most beautiful and and terrifying senses of the word. A man could stare in awe at a dragon's majesty while in the same breath cursing the beast for the fiery holocaust it had inflicted upon all it encountered. And so it was at Blackwater Bay as green flames licked the smokey skies. And yet for all of that, the Hand of the King felt neither joy nor terror. Though he fully appreciated the gravity and abnormality of what had just happened, Tyrion found himself unable treat the sight before him with any more reverence than he would a chair or a nail. In truth, he did not even feel some small speck of pride at having dealt his enemy such a devastating blow while losing no more than a single ship. Instead, he felt one thing and one thing alone: relief.

 _About time something went right. It would seem that Stannis' fire God has made his will known. No doubt Father will chide me for wasting a perfectly good ship transporting the wildfire,_ Tyrion thought to himself bitterly. _The Gods alone know what Cersei would've done with that much wildfire; burned down King's Landing, most like. After the way the week has gone, it's a wonder I didn't manage do that myself when the barrels were being loaded onto that bloody ship. Even if we did burn every ship, it doesn't matter unless the Mountain arrives with the bloody host father claimed to have sent. Why bloody the men at Duskendale? Ser Robett's host was not so close as to pose an immediate threat to the capitol. And they could always be dealt with once Stannis had been defeated. Duskendale was a great victory on the face of it, to be sure, but it doesn't mean anything if Stannis Baratheon takes King's Landing. Which King do we even declare for if that happens? The time for the Mountain and his host to arrive was two days ago or mayhaps even yesterday. Now it won't even matter, most like. Not unless they arrive within the next half an hour._ _On the other hand, it would seem that Stannis' fire God has decided to make his will known, so mayhaps we'll manage to hold out for another hour._

 _At least this God has a sense of humor,_ Tyrion thought to himself darkly. _No doubt, he's just as bad as the Seven, but at least when this bastard decides to screw you over, he takes enough pride in his work to get creative. Mayhaps I've chosen the wrong faith. No, no, you can't trust a God with a sense of irony. If this fire God has his way, I imagine we'll win the battle only for the Mountain to slip on some mud and crush me without even realizing it. Naturally, Father would get all of the credit for our victory._

In truth, setting Blackwater Bay on fire – and with it, the entire Baratheon fleet – had bought the King's men invaluable time...even if it was little more than a brief reprieve. At the very least, it was far more than Tyrion had dared hope for, especially once it began to seem as though the Seven themselves were conspiring against him. As the Hound led a sortie against Stannis' forces – which had finally managed to land using an army of rowboats as a makeshift fleet of sorts – the Hand found that he could not help thinking about just how much had gone wrong in the days leading up to what he was certain would be the last hour of his life.

The past week had been nothing short of a disaster. It began with one of the strangest ravens that the Hand had ever seen. The message was from Riverrun – Robb Stark, to be precise – apologizing for the unsanctioned murders of Ser Kevan Lannister and two of his children by Lord Rickard Karstark who had been sent to negotiate some sort of prisoner exchange. _Uncle Kevan was a good and honorable man. He did not deserve to die in such a shameful manner. Even if he was far too loyal to father to ever contradict him publicly, he was still among the few who ever treated me kindly. He was certainly never anything less than respectful to me or anyone else. I imagine I could've forgiven him for almost anything._

 _I don't doubt the Stark boy had nothing to do with this, not that father will care...no more than he'll care that Lord Karstark has been executed._ That would've been bad enough, but the letter went on to explicitly state that anything done to Sansa in retaliation would be inflicted upon Jaime a thousand times over. _The damned boy threatened turn him over to the Boltons if we harmed so much as a single hair on Sansa Stark's head_ , Tyrion thought to himself with shudder. Even in the Westerlands, House Bolton's reputation for brutality was well known. _We have the Cleganes and the Starks have the Boltons, I suppose._ _Lady Sansa should thank the Seven that my dear brother is her family's prisoner. Otherwise, father might've returned to King's Landing so that he could personally oversee her torture. I doubt Stannis will execute such a valuable hostage. It would seem that the poor girl may survive us after all, assuming my sister doesn't have her executed before Stannis captures the Red Keep, of course._

Wednesday had begun promisingly enough. Littlefinger had run off to the Eyrie after convincing the King to let him hide behind Lady Lysa's skirts. The sight of Lysa Arryn "feeding" that throughly repulsive creature she called a son – the first thing that came into Tyrion's mind whenever he had the misfortune of hearing that madwoman's name – was one of the most nauseating things he had ever seen and yet, his disgust was not half so great as the delight he took in trying to imagine the truly singular misery that Littlefinger would surely come to know upon his arrival at the Eyre. _I wonder...when was the last time, he saw sweet Lysa? As a young boy at Riverrun? At the Eyrie, during the early years of her marriage to Lord Arryn? She's changed,_ Tyrion thought to himself with a wicked grin and a wave of his right hand as he watched Littlefinger's ship sail away. _It would seem that despite his best efforts, the King has managed to rid me of a problem that has plagued me from the moment I returned to the capitol._

 _Naturally, the boy had to remedy that situation. It was bad enough when the beast began hiding Ned Stark's head everywhere. First he put in it Sansa's bed while she slept, then he forced the poor girl to bathe in a tub while the head floated in the water, and after that he had it served to her on a silver platter._ The King had even taken to calling the cruel game "Where's Dead Ned's Head?" _He thought the rhyme was the very height of cunning. Small things amuse small minds, I suppose._

 _Of course, the boy soon grew tired of startling his betrothed with the sight of her father's head. The little monster read something in some damned book about someone shooting an apple off a person's head._ On Friday, Tyrion had entered the throne room to find Sansa tied to a wooden pole with an apple on her head sobbing hysterically as the King aimed his crossbow at her belly. _Had I arrived just a few seconds later, Robb Stark's mad dog would still be peeling skin off of my dear brother._

The next day, Lord Varys simply vanished from King's Landing without a trace. _I'd come to rely on that one. I never trusted him, but somehow I didn't expect him to flee. Littlefinger was no surprise, but Varys was...disappointing._ Then came the worst news of all, Stannis was all but certain to arrive at King's Landing a week earlier than anyone expected. It was also a week less than the time needed to adequately repair and reinforce the mud gate.

"You can't leave, dog," screamed the King, breaking his uncle's chain of thought.

"Try and stop me," growled the Hound, storming away. _Seven Hells, have we lost already? Lancel's gone. Dead, most like. At least it wasn't a complete loss..._ *THUD*

"The gates! They're go-going to break down the ga-gates," shouted the King. "I...I should go...yes...go...I...the Red Keep...they...they may need me there." _You spineless, little...if you leave, the gold cloaks will abandon their posts._

"You can't leave, you bloody fool. You're the King! If you won't fight, why should...I'm sorry, am I boring you? My apologies, Your Grace. I certainly wouldn't want to disrupt your conversation with Ser Meryn."

"I...I have to go. I have to...uh...I...umm...I have...err...urgent business to see in-inside the Red Keep. S-S-Ser Meryn will represent me on the battlefield," whimpered the King as he trudged away from the battlements, staring at the ground in shame. Seconds after the King retreated inside the Red Keep, the mud gate came crashing to the ground. _Oh fuck me._

There was no place left to run and so they fought. The men fought not for their King or to defend their city, but for survival. A Baratheon soldier charged at Tyrion, but Ser Meryn Trant cut the man down. _I never thought I'd owe that man my life,_ Tyrion thought to himself. That was the last thought that passed through his head before Ser Meryn cut it off with a single stroke.


	17. Bran III

**Bran**

"One seldom gets to enjoy such tranquil occasions with their family. It is quite pleasant, is it not," asked Domeric. _Why couldn't that fall have killed me? How much worse could death possibly be? No, Rickon would be on his own if that happened. He'd be alone with these madmen. He'd get himself killed by talking back to one of them in half-an-hour, most like. Mayhaps Ramsay isn't insane; he's plainly just as miserable as I am. He's not mad; he's just a monster,_ Bran decided.

"Seven Hells, Domeric, must the whole world be subjected to your tea parties every time father leaves?"

"It is not a tea party, bastard. It is a family dinner in honor of our guests. Your company is seldom a pleasant thing. I had hoped that the Lordlings would prove to be more agreeable conversationalists, but I fear I was mistaken."

"If it is in our honor, can we leave," Bran asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Certainly. If you wish to be excused, you need only get up and walk away from the table. Why can't you be more like your brother. The child has not touched his food to be sure, but he has not complained once during the entire meal. He seems to have learned much and more from his last beating." Bran watched his younger brother stab his steak over and over again. _Rickon's probably imagining that piece of meat is your neck. You know that, right?_

"They're not Boltons. Father's not here and these two pretenders are, so we can't very well call it a family dinner, can we?"

"You're not a Bolton either, only a bastard."

"I'm the Lord of the Hornwood."

"You're my dog." _Not this again... Where do these people even come from? Seven Hells, Rickon! Stop banging your head on the table._

"What did you say?"

"I said that you are a half-breed whom I have permitted to sit at this table instead of in the kennels with the rest of its kind. I'll gladly have you put down if you don't start behaving as you should."

"You know, you're quite right, dear brother. Family dinners oft prove highly amusing. I know I enjoyed watching our last meal with your mother. Don't feel bad about what father tricked you into doing. Just remember that your mother will always be with you, well...actually I doubt she was with you for very long. Do our new friends know that you –"

"If you say one more word about that, I swear by the Old Gods and the New that I will unman you. Do you hear me, bastard?"

"I was only trying to make conversation."

"You're not part of our family! Neither of you are and you never will be either. I hate both of you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! Tell them, Bran! Tell them that they're both big stupidheads and that Robb's going to kill them. Them and their stupid father," yelled Rickon, stabbing the table with his knife. Domeric ground his teeth and for a moment he looked as though he were about to leap across the table and strangle the boy with his bare hands. _No! No! No! No! No! No! No! No! You can't use bad table manners around Domeric or he'll hurt you. Just like you can't call Lord Ramsay a bastard. Never! Never! Never! Else he'll...he'll... No! Go away, Reek! GO AWAY! I don't have time to argue with you right now._

Of late Ramsay had begun insisting that Bran's name was "Reek." The first time he did it, Bran had laughed in his face. It was the stupidest thing he had ever heard and was funny in a pathetic sort of way...until the monster flayed one of Rickon's fingers. After that, Bran always answered to the name when Domeric wasn't around. It got worse once Ramsay started dunking Bran's head in a bucket of water over and over again until he lost consciousness. Sometimes – when Bran needed to escape from the Dreadfort, but couldn't dream about dragons – he'd hear Reek whispering to him from some dark corner of his mind. Bran never listened to this strange voice, but it had grown louder and louder as the days went by. _I burned some desert city to the ground during the last dream,_ Bran recalled, allowing himself the smallest of smiles.

"You're absolutely right, little Lord. We're not part of your family. My father's bastard never will be, I think. Of course, after my wedding night, you and dear Brandon will be my good-brothers. That's the only reason father didn't order me to kill the two of you, I think. Or mayhaps he simply wants to use the two of you to obtain your sister's consent and cooperation without leaving any scars. I fear it would not serve for Northmen to see Ned Stark's daughter missing an ear here or a finger there."

"No, father's going soft. You said yourself that he seemed fond of the child. The soft-hearted fool probably wants to keep her as a pet once she's given you a son."

"You have always been obsessed with keeping human pets...fitting enough given that you are one, I suppose. That doesn't mean father wants to –"

"Who cares what that old fool wants? He's too weak to be a Lord; it's just a matter of time until he gets both of us killed. If you had half the wits that the Gods gave a turnip, you'd put a knife in his heart the moment he returns. Do that and you won't have to wait twenty years to become Lord of the Dreadfort."

"Why? So that you can tell him you've uncovered a plot during his absence and force our dear father to dispose of me? No, I think not. A wise man does not keep the counsel of a dog, Lord Snow." _Please stop calling him that; Lord Ramsay's a human being, not a dog for you to kick. He can't talk about master that way. Shut up; I told you to go away, Reek! Ramsay's a monster and Domeric is a madman. I hope they kill each other._

"Look at you," replied Ramsay cheerfully, "just a few months away from getting yourself a nice, young wife. You really do love children, don't you? How old did father say Lady Arya was? 12? 13? Don't worry, even if I'm sure father will still expect you to marry your child bride-to-be even if she's just a girl of nine years. Of course, it might be a bit awkward if he wants you to consummate the marriage before the poor little girl has even bled. No matter, I'm sure you'll do as your bid when the time comes. Won't you, dear brother?" Domeric squirmed in his seat and looked as though he were about to vomit all over the table in disgust. Bran grabbed his brother's wrist before Rickon could throw his knife at the bastard.

"What's wrong? Afraid you won't be able to perform? Can't get it up when you're with a girl who is too young to have proper tits, is that it? Fear not, dear brother, I have never had any problems in that department. I've even fucked a few dead girls. You should really try it some time; you'd like it. They never scream or try to run away. Just say the word and I'll be happy to rape your scared, whimpering little she wolf for you. After all, it doesn't really matter which Bolton puts a baby in her, does it? It may prove to be an unpleasant task, but we all must to our part for the betterment of our House. Children that young are oft so trusting. Mayhaps she'll even believe me when I promise not to hurt her. I guess what I'm trying to say is that if you aren't up to the task, I'll always be there for –"

"ENOUGH! One more word and I'll...I'll...I'll... You will not rape my wife, is that understood?"

"I suppose."

"Father said the girl is twelve, so at least she'll be a woman grown in another year or so. If the Gods are good, he'll let me wait that long. He will, I...I...I know he will; father knows best! He...he won't make me rape her, not if she's truly a mere child. He's plainly quite fond of the girl, but he was fond of me too when he... I...I didn't know any better. Damn it, I didn't want to do it! I was trying to save mother. Not even father couldn't have enjoyed it. He couldn't... He knew he'd gone too far. Why else would have started using leeches to drain the bad blood after that day?" _What are you talking about?_

"I'm sure he hated every minute of what you did to poor Lady Ryswell. That weak, soft-hearted cow could never be a true Bolton. Her heart was always bleeding all over the floor. The bitch's...accident was your fault, wasn't it, dear brother?"

"Yes. Father...he said the same thing. If I'd been stronger...if I hadn't asked her to remind him that it was my nameday while he was in his private chambers, she'd never have seen...he'd never have had to make me... No! I needed adjustments! I must needs be strong; father knows best. He always knows! A man shouldn't cry; I must needs be punished. I...I trust that you would be...would be willing to pull the fingernail off my left thumb later this evening, Lord Snow."

"Hmm...you know that I am nothing if not a peaceful man, dear brother. And I fear that even the mere thought of causing you pain is almost more than I can bare. Very well! For the sake of the love that I bare you, I would be happy to pull off one of your fingernails." _How could anyone – even a Bolton – possibly raise their children to be...whatever these men are?_

"Nothing would please you more, I think. Father never tires of finding ways to torment me, does he? He wrote that the girl has already bled...'goat's blood.' What am I to make of such non-sense? It is not a thing to jape about. If Lady Arya has bled then she is a woman grown, if not then she is still a child. I fear he has also instructed me to find ways of disciplining the girl without causing any physical injury to her person. Father says that he believes that the girl will do as she's bid when the time comes. If Lady Arya proves to be a willful child then she'll have to be disciplined just like any other breeding mare and I fear that this will require me to flay our guests. So be it; I shall break the cunt like any other animal if it comes to that. The girl will do as she's told even I have to hang her upside down from the ceiling or chain one of her ankles to a bedpost and toss her out a window."

"Arya's my sister, not a stupid animal. She's not your slave and she doesn't belong to you either! Stop talking about her like that or I'll...I'll...I'll kill you," shouted Rickon, throwing his plate at the wall. As the plate shattered into a million pieces, Bran realized that it is was no longer a question of whether or not his brother would be punished. The only thing that remained to be seen was what type of torture would be inflicted upon him. _It'll only be worse for him if I try to make excuses for his behavior. Right now, only one of them is wroth with him. If I say something, Lord Ramsay might try to punish me something to him after Domeric is done._

In truth, Bran had been dreading just such an outburst ever since their sister's name was mentioned. _Rickon and Arya got along better than either of them did with anyone else in the else in the family. Father always used to say they had the wolf's blood. Arya and Jon were inseparable, but mother said he'll never be part of our family and that bastards can't be trusted. And he's not a Stark besides, so he doesn't count...not really._ Somewhere deep within Bran's mind, Reek wondered whether or not it was acceptable to refer to one of Lord Ramsay's enemies a "bastard." As for Rickon, he oft behaved as though he believed he could single-handedly protect anyone in their family from harm. _They already beat him for threatening to kill Domeric if anyone hurt me._

"Tell me, my Lords, did you know that King Robb proposed this unholy union to my father," asked Domeric.

"Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar!" _Of course he's lying, Rickon. Now please stop talking! Please! Don't you see the trap he set for you?_

"We all know Robb didn't do that. He loves Arya just as much as we do, now please stop saying that word and apologize to Domeric."

"But he is a liar, Bran. A big, fat, stinking liar."

"Rickon, don't –"

"Listen to your brother, boy. My patience is not without its limits. I would prefer not to discipline you again, but I fear you will leave me no choice if you continue to exhibit such poor table manners. Such rudeness cannot go unpunished, I think. I once took a joint from one of Lord Snow's toes for chewing with his mouth open." _Poor table manners? That's the part that bothered you? Not the fact that Rickon just called you a liar?_

"Shut up, you...you...walnut-head!"

"I suppose my brother does look a bit like a walnut, doesn't he," murmured Ramsay.

"If you don't apologize for that remark this minute, I will make you watch while I unman Lord Brandon. I swear by all the Gods that I'll cut off both the log and the stones. Is that what you want, boy," asked the Castellan of the Dreadfort in a voice as soft as a whisper.

"Can I watch too," asked Ramsay. A wide grin spread across the monster's face as Domeric began grinding his teeth in frustration.

"RICKON STARK, APOLOGIZE TO DOMERIC BOLTON THIS MINUTE," screamed Bran. Rickon turned to his brother and began to cry.

"I...I'm sorry, please don't cry. No, stop. Please, you don't understand..." _I hate my life! Maybe...maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let Reek live it instead. It would only be for a little while. I could come back later and...no! Never!_

"I'm sorry, Bran! I'm s-s-suh-suh-s-s-sorry. I was...I was only t-t-tuh-trying to...to pro-protect –"

"I forgive you; it's going to be okay, I promise. I didn't mean to frighten you. I...I'm sorry for shouting at you."

"Close enough. At least the little brat apologized to someone," muttered Domeric.

"Seven Hells, you're just as weak as father. You should just kill those two bastards for disrespecting you and be done with it. If you don't have the stomach for it, just say the word and I'll do it myself. I'm sure the hounds are hungry."

"As you say. Tell me, bastard, did you ever wonder why you were the only one of us who was served soup?"

"What do you mean? None of you had..." _Did he poison the monster?_ Lord Ramsay looked as though he were wondering the same thing, although he was plainly having a decidedly different reaction to the possibility. "What...what the fuck did you do to me, you bastard? I...I feel faint, I..."

"No, of course you didn't notice," replied Domeric, ignoring his half-brother. "You're simply a dumb animal whom I took in out of the kindness of my heart. An unthinking, mindless beast and nothing more. You'd do well to remember what happens to dogs who forget their place, bastard. That soup of yours contained several ingredients aside from the broth itself. I should know; I oversaw its preparation personally. It contained salted pork, sliced carrots, various spices...and the flesh from the finger that I took to punish you for harming the Lordlings without my consent. A touch less amusing when it happens to you, isn't it?"

"What?"

"I fed you one of your fingers and kept the bone as a souvenir. What about that don't you understand? Oh and one more thing, if you wish to vomit, be a good dog and do it in another room." _Give me a sign, you Old Gods. How will any of this help me find the three-eyed raven,_ Bran asked himself as Lord Ramsay fell out of his chair, hit his head on the floor, and raced out of the room.

"I am truly sorry about that, Little Lords," said Domeric.

"Why would you feed your own brother his –"

"I wasn't talking about that, you fool. I was apologizing for threatening to unman you. I would never actually do that to a child. Of course, if your brother ever calls me a liar again or worse, exhibits the sort of rudeness he displayed this evening then I fear that I shall still be forced to punish him. I thought that mayhaps Lord Snow might prove more likely to leave the two of you alone if he thought you were living in constant fear of what I might do to you. If...if father needs some...someone unmaned, I'll be happy to cut off his...no. I...I mustn't speak of father that way. You...you understand, don't you? Neither of you would ever tell him what I said, would you?" Bran shook is head vigorously and shot a death glare at his brother when he saw a smile not entirely unlike Ramsay's resting upon Rickon's face. _Don't even think about it! Playing those sorts of games with people is something that the Boltons do; father would never have done something like that...not even to a monster like Lord Ramsay. And you'll probably just get us killed besides. You know that, don't you?_

"No, we won't say anything, will we Rickon? Rickon?"

"Fine." _Fine? FINE? What the Seven Hells has gotten into you? Just tell the madman what he wants to hear. What is so hard about that?_

"Good. You must understand that I...I hate this place. There, I said it. I will not...I'm tired of flaying children and trying to train that depraved bastard. He can have the Dreadfort when father dies; I don't want it. Father will never be proud of me. Never! Lord Ramsay should've been the trueborn son. He'd be the heir father wanted...the...the heir House Bolton deserves. I...I have a prop...proposal for the two of you."

"A what?"

"I wish to make you an offer. Once father sends your sister to the Dreadfort; I will permit the three of you escape with me when the time comes if and only if you swear by all the Gods that you will persuade your father's bastard at the Wall not to kill me once I take the black. One way or another, I mean to leave this place. I could never refuse father anything...not after my fourteenth nameday. He would say that I became a man that day, I think. I became something, that much is certain." _You have to warn Lord Ramsay! You have to or he'll hurt us forever and ever and ever! No! I won't tell him. I don't know who you are or how that monster put your voice in my head, but I'm not listening to you today or ever again. I am not Reek; I am Brandon Stark of Winterfell. You have to know your name. But Bran, we're nothing without Lord Ramsay. No, Reek, you are nothing without that monster. I'll still be here and soon I'll be free..._

"I swear that Jon will not hurt you," Bran replied. His heart sank when he saw the look on his younger brother's face. _He thinks I've sold us out to these people. Why can't he just trust me? He's oft let me think for the two of us before; why did he have to pick this moment to start questioning me? Is it because I warned Domeric that you were planning to put pieces of glass in the bast...in Lord Ramsay's soup? I was trying to save you, Rickon! I hated watching him beat you, but do you have any idea what would've happened to us if you'd killed the monster or worse, if it'd only hurt him a little? And you had no way of even getting all that glass you were saving into his food besides. Did you think the cooks would just dismiss the guards, let you out of our room, and walk you over to the kitchens? When Reek and I agree that something is a terrible idea... It must be nice living in a world where everyone is either a good guy or a bad guy and you can solve all of your problems by daydreaming about hurting people,_ Bran thought to himself bitterly. _This is a dangerous place and it's hard enough to keep us alive without you looking at me I've just stabbed you in the back._

"My brother Robb is Lord of Winterfell; he's the oldest. You should send him a raven telling him what happened at Winterfell and where Rickon and I are. He'd let you live if you did that, I know he would." _Mayhaps this is just another cruel game like the ones Lord Ramsay always forced me to play, but what do I have to lose? If he's lying then he'll hurt us either way and if he's telling the truth..._

"No."

"What? Why not?"

"That will not serve."

"Then we should ride for the Wall now, before your father returns."

"No. We will leave when I am ready and no sooner." _Even if Rickon's right, it's safer to play their games. There's always a way to win...or at least, not lose as badly as we would by refusing to pla_ y. _When I won his first game, Lord Ramsay let Hodor go...just like he said he would. You see, Bran, we can trust him. Lord Ramsay is a kind and generous master. He loves us just as we must love him...just as we will always love him. He will only hurt us if we're bad. We need him! SHUT UP, REEK!_

"I'll convince him not to hurt either of you, but you have to promise not to rape our sister, no matter what your father tells you to do."

"I fear that I oft behave in strange ways when my father is around. I could never summon the courage to speak to you as I do now were it not for his prolonged absence. I shall do my utmost to comply with your request, but I fear it will depend entirely upon whether or not father is the one who brings Lady Arya to the Dreadfort. As I said, he instructed me to find ways to discipline your sister without physically harming her which means that he is quite fond of her, most like. I fear that I will never understand how a little girl – and a Stark besides – has already earned far better treatment from my father than either of his own children. He'd favor a piece of rotting wood over his bastard, to be sure, but I can assure you that there was no such rule against physical discipline where I was concerned," grumbled Domeric with the jealousy and bitter resentment of a little boy who suspects that he has been replaced by his newborn brother. The strange, pale-eyed man raised his three-fingered left hand in the air.

"What do you mean," asked Bran. _I shouldn't have asked that...whatever he was talking about seemed to be making him angry._

"He would prefer that I not rape his pet bitch unless no other course of action remains available to us, I think. I have done every terrible thing he asked of me and he flayed me all the same. Ungrateful bastard! Mayhaps I should leave your sister behind if father loves her so much. He can keep his bloody pet and Ramsay can wed the brat for all I care!" _No! No! No! No! Not Lord Ramsay! She'd try to fight and he'd..._

"Stop talking about –" Bran covered his brother's mouth with his left hand.

"If you let my siblings and I escape to the Wall with you – all three of us – then I swear by the Old Gods and the New that not only will no harm come to you by Jon's hand, every man who is loyal to House Stark shall count you among his friends." Rickon rolled his eyes at his brother in disgust. _Mayhaps this is what Jojen meant; maybe Domeric is telling the truth and this is how we'll get to the Wall._

"That is kind of you to say, but not being killed in my sleep by your father's bastard will serve, I think. Very well. You, your brother, and that little cunt whom father would see me wed will all accompany me when I ride for the Wall," growled Domeric, grinding his teeth.

"Even if he wanted to kill you, Jon would never do it while you're sleeping. He's an honorable man. He'd never kill someone when they couldn't defend themselves."

"And what of Lord Rickon? He too must swear to tell your father's bastard not to attempt to do any harm to my person."

"He'll tell Jon that you helped us and he'll ask him not to hurt you too, right Rickon?" Rickon studied the pale-eyed man sitting at the head of the table for a moment, swished something around in his mouth, and then spat a chewed up piece of food at empty chair where Lord Ramsay had been sitting.

"No, Jon will kill you. He'll kill you dead and after he's cut off your stupid walnut-head, he'll kill you again. I'll make sure he does even if Bran and Arya are too scared to do it." Bran buried his face in his hands and tried to decide whether he was angrier at Domeric or his younger brother.

The Castellan of the Dreadfort calmly stood up and walked over to the little boy's seat. The wolf cub looked his enemy directly in the eye and for a moment it seemed as though he might growl or bare his teeth. Suddenly, in one swift motion, Domeric slammed Rickon's head against the table so hard that he knocked the youngest Stark unconscious. Rickon's body fell out of his seat and his head slammed against the stone floor. *CRACK* Rickon's limbs jerked wildly for a moment and then his body went completely limp.

"Rickon? Rickon? Wake up! Please, please don't...don't...don't leave me alone with these people. _Please, don't die, Rickon. Please..." Is he... He's breathing! He's alive!_

"If I were you, I'd find a way to make my brother see reason. If you can't...well...the Dreadfort is a large castle and I fear small children will go missing from time to time."


	18. Lysa I

**Lysa**

 _He's coming! My Petyr will be here soon,_ Lysa thought to herself, giddily smelling her lover's letter for the seventh time before holding it over her heart. The mere thought of the one man she'd ever loved caused things that Maester Coleman once said women no longer felt at her age. _Soon we'll be married and then –_

"MOTHER, I'm hungry."

"Robyn, dearest you just ate. My strong, healthy, handsome, perfect little man doesn't really need any more milk tonight, does he," asked Lysa, rubbing her forehead in frustration. _Robyn was the wrong name for you. A perfect baby deserves a perfect name. Lord Arryn was a stupid, smelly, small-minded simpleton; if he had half the wits the Gods gave a turnip, he'd have let me name you "Petyr." It would've been the only kind thing that beast ever did for me. Why couldn't you have let me pretend that I was feeding my Petyr? WHY? You can't do anything about it now, can you, Jon? How I wish you were alive to see me marry my sweet Mockingbird. Go on, climb out of your grave and try to rob me of my happiness again. We both know you want to! I won't let you steal that from me. You can't keep me from imagining that it is Petyr sucking at my breast every day. I won't let you take that from me! Never again! Do you hear me, Jon? You deserved to die for trying to come between Petyr and me, you stupid, useless old –  
_

"BUT I'M HUNGRY NOW! I want to eat now! NOW! NOW! NOW! And then...and then, I want to see another little baby man fly." _If you were Lord Arryn's son, I'd throw you out the moon door myself, but you're not. Petyr still thinks I drank moon tea after he made love to me that night, but I would never let anyone take a baby away from me again. I forced myself to pretend Lord Arryn was my handsome, thoughtful little mockingbird for a night, but I never drank the tea._

 _Jon had all the passion of a dead fish, but at least he always believed the boy to be his. "The seed is strong," he said. "My boy will be a great Lord someday," he said. Petyr's boy will be a great Lord. The seed was strong because it was Petyr's seed, you fool. I could never lose his son...not again. What if we never got another chance? I tried so hard...the Gods know how hard I tried with Jon. Of course, that pig never gave me anything but pain. A lizard lion would've made a better lover than that...that...horse-brained craven. No one will steal Robyn Baelish from me. Not even Petyr..._

 _Any other woman would do the same, that much is certain...any woman except sweet, perfect, beautiful, smart, precious, wonderful, adorable little Cat._ The mere thought her sister filled Lysa with a murderous rage and she ground her teeth so hard that she nearly chipped one of them. _That fat cow always went for the most obvious thing. The cruel little brat was always taunting poor Petyr. She told me had no idea what I was talking about when we were girls, but I knew the truth! Petyr is a man of character. I fear that his honor oft clouds his judgment. For all his wisdom, he was always so trusting...so quick to assume the best of those around him; he never would've suspected a thing if...yes, that had to have been it. Cat must have come on to him when no one else was around. The whore probably threw herself at him like a dog. Thank the Gods Petyr was strong enough to resist her advances. What an evil woman. I oft wonder if Cat ever thinks of anyone but herself these days. We were so close as children. She changed_ , Lysa thought to herself sadly. _No! I can't worry about her...not now! I must needs focus on Petyr and on our son._

"Of course, you can eat now, Petyr. My beautiful boy can do anything he wants," Lysa murmured softly. _Should I tell my Mockingbird about his father? No! He'd never understand what it meant. It would destroy him and no one can ever know besides. They'd never let us be together if they knew the truth. They'd –_

"Mother, you called me 'Petyr' again."

"No, I didn't."

"Did so!"

"Did not!"

"Did so! You did! You did! You did! I said...you...DID! You do it whenever –"

"I have such smart, clever little boy. You remind me so very of your...uncle. Of uncle Petyr, yes..." _Such a sharp little thing. Sweet, gentle, thoughtful, handsome, and so very much like his father,_ Lysa thought to herself as she lovingly watched her son drink his supper. _I'll tell him the truth on his nameday; no child could ask for a better present that learning that he was really the son of my Petyr. Or should I tell Petyr on his nameday that we have a son? Or mayhaps it can be a wedding gift. Should it be a gift for Petyr or Robyn? Decisions, decisions..._

"I think it's empty. Is there more milk in this one," asked Robyn as he grabbed at his mother's right breast. Lysa was too busy staring dreamily at her son to notice. Sometimes – if she tried hard enough – the Lady of the Eyrie could make herself hear her son's words in Petyr's voice. It always put her in a trance, especially when it was the boy's mealtime. _You're far too interested in my body to have been Jon's son. Look at you, the very image of your father. My perfect, handsome –_

"I said I...want...MORE! MORE! MORE! MORE! I WANT TO EAT NOW!"

"Of course, dear. My little boy can drink as much as he wants. And after you're finished, mommy is going to have five more dwarves thrown through the moon door. Do you know why, Robyn?"

"Umm...wait...I know this one! It's because...no, that's not it. It's...wait...don't tell me! It's uh...oh, I know! It's because I'm a perfect angel, isn't it?"

"That's right! And what does that mean?"

"It means that I can have everything I want whenever I want it. No one can ever tell me 'no' because uncle Petyr is going to be King someday and when he dies, I'll rule all of Westeros. When I'm King, I'll move the Iron Throne to the Eyrie. We'll make everyone I don't like fly, mother. They'll all fly, starting with the little Lannister baby man."

"And who do we discuss this with?"

"No one, not even uncle Petyr. Only you and me are allowed to talk about it. That's right, isn't it? Did I do good, mother?" _Petyr will make you his heir one day, he just doesn't know it yet._

"Such a clever little boy," Lysa cooed. _And someday, mommy will get everything that she wants too; Petyr will give me a daughter and another son. We'll name them Petyr and Lysa. No, that's ridiculous; there's no need for a second son. I'll just change Robyn's name once he learns the truth. They can marry and then they're children can marry and their children's children can marry too. It will be like marrying my Petyr over and over again for the rest of time._

...

"Robyn wanted to wait up for you, Petyr. He loves you so very much."

"I'm touched, truly I am. You'll have to forgive me if I'm a bit irritable. It would seem that Lord Bolton has rejected my offer. The man wants nothing to do with me, if you can believe it. I offered him the key to the North and he threatened to send my message to the Starks if I ever write to him again or cross him in any way. Worse, none of his men will inform on him, no matter how much gold my agents offered them. I suppose every piece has a will of its own. Of course, few pieces are half so independent-minded as that one. Quite a thorn in my side, this so-called Lord of the Dreadfort... I'll show him! Can you believe it? That bloody flayed man plainly thinks he's smarter than I am." _But that's absurd, no one could ever be smarter than my Petyr._ "The bastard! I'll have his head on a spike right next to Ned Stark's; if that fool thinks that he can spit in my face...apologies, my Lady. I must be boring you."

"Well..." _Oh, you always could see right through me._

"Lord Bolton and Lord Tarly don't matter. We are the only ones who matter right now. Where is the boy," asked Petyr wearily.

"He's fast asleep. You know, I...well...I was thinking...wouldn't it be best if he awoke to find us in bed together?"

"Nothing would please me more, my love. With your permission, I should like to wed you tonight. Only..." _What? What could possibly be wrong? Jon is dead. Father is dead. Cat...that whore has her claws in him. Yes, that's the way of it. Her husband is dead, so she thinks she can steal my Petyr away from me. She can't have him! No one can; I'll kill him with my bare hands before I let that happen. I...I'll never let him leave the Vale again. Never! Never! Never! He'll stay here with me and we'll be together forever and ever and ever! My mockingbird has finally returned to his nest and if that bitch tries to steal him again, I'll cut her throat myself._

"Lysa, do you love me?"

"More than anything in the world, how...how could you even ask me that after everything I've done? I've lied for you, I've killed –"

"Yes, yes, I know, dearest," replied Petyr, glancing nervously at the guards. "I want you to show me how much you love me, Lysa. I need you to do one simple thing for me. Do it without question and I will know that you truly love me."

"What is it, Petyr? I'll do anything! Please, tell me! Tell me! TELL ME NOW!"

"Very well. If you truly love me, then you will let me bring your niece to the Vale. Lady Sansa will marry Lord Robyn...when he comes of age, of course."

"Fine. The girl...she...for the sake of love I bare you, I shall allow it. You...you'll give me another son, won't you?" _It can't have been easy being Cat's daughter. If my sister hasn't completely ruined the poor girl, I...I'll be a mother to her. I will teach her to be a proper Lady. With a steady hand like mine guiding her, I'm sure even Sansa Stark can grow up to be just like me. And if...and...if that hateful little bitch so much as glances at my Petyr, I'll throw the empty-headed cunt out the moon door myself._

"Of course, Lysa. I'll give you sons and daughters." _Oh Petyr..._


	19. Davos I

**Arya**

 _I killed Lord Vargo and I didn't even need Jaqen or Lord Bolton...or anyone else to help me do it,_ Arya thought to herself as she watched Lord Bolton read some sort of message in his solar. _It wasn't so bad...not really. He was a monster and he was going to rape me besides. Does it even matter that he got what he deserved? No, that's stupid; of course it matters. Lord Bolton said I should be proud of my work. And Westeros is better off without that stupid old Goat besides, even Gendry would thank me if he were still here_. _No one will miss Lord Vargo either._ Even the rest of the Bloody Mummers had seemed relieved when Lord Bolton made Urswyck the Faithful the new Lord of Harrenhal.

 _Lord Bolton was right,_ Arya decided. _I am proud that I killed Lord Vargo and I'd butcher that stupid goat again if I could. I'm not afraid of him or anyone else. My enemies are the ones who should be afraid! Joffrey. Cersei. Ilyn Payne. The Hound. The Mountain. Tywin Lannister. Theon Greyjoy. Polliver. Dunsen. The Tickler. I'll kill them all some day, every one. They'll suffer the same way that my pack has suffered and...and..._ Arya looked down at the ground in shame.

 _What would father say if he were alive? He'd be ashamed of me, most like. Father...he...he can be wrong too sometimes. Lord Bolton said it was justice, not revenge._ No matter how hard she tried, Arya couldn't shake the feeling that she had done something horrible, even if Vargo Hoat had left her no choice.

"Lord Bolton, am I a...never mind." _That was stupid. I can't keep bothering him like this when he's trying to work. He'll hate me if...no, not Lord Bolton. Everyone else could hate me and he'd still be my friend, just like Jon. As long as they're alive, I'll always have a pack._

"I fear you forfeited any right to silence the moment that you chose to disrupt my work. Now then, what seems to be troubling you? You look quite ill, I think. If it is about Lord Vargo, I assure you that what happened was not your fault. You were thrown into a dangerous situation and conducted yourself far more admirably than most boys your age."

"I'm a girl!"

"As you say. And yet you killed Lord Vargo all the same. It takes great courage to butcher a man like an animal. Most men cut off an enemy's head and call it justice; I call that cowardice. If a man wrongs you, he should suffer slowly. Mercy is for the weak. Do you understand?"

"I think so." _I am not weak._ _I am a direwolf._

"And Lord Vargo plainly suffered a great deal before you killed him. In truth, I fear that I must beg your forgiveness."

"What? Why?" _Mother and Robb are the ones who should be asking for my forgiveness, not Lord Bolton._

"I should've been more careful. Lord Vargo must have figured out your identity after seeing you in the rookery. I never should have brought you there."

"That wasn't your fault."

"Mayhaps."

"It really wasn't! I'd tell you if it was, I promise. There's nothing to forgive, my Lord. And even if there was, I'd still forgive you...no matter what you did."

"Would you," asked Lord Bolton as a flicker of amusement crept across his face. _What did I say?_

"I'm not joking. I really would forgive you, I promise! You're my only friend."

"As you say."

"But what I was upset about, it...it's just that..."

"Yes?"

"The morning after I killed Lord Vargo, I felt...part of me wished that I could kill him again only...only for revenge this time, even though it wouldn't be justice."

"And? Revenge and justice are one in the same."

"They are? Really?"

"Yes."

"But you don't...you don't think that makes me a monster, do you?"

"Of course not, don't be ridiculous," said the Lord of the Dreadfort dismissively as he rose from his seat and approached the lone wolf. He mussed her hair the way Jon used to and Arya gave him her widest smile. Lord Bolton studied her for a moment with his pale, blue eyes.

"I want you to listen to me very carefully. It is good that you enjoyed killing Lord Vargo."

"Good? But I –"

"I thought I told you to listen."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Men oft speak of their bloodlust and courage, only to turn craven on the battlefield. You are not a craven; you were quite brave, I think."

"Brave? But I was afraid; how can you be brave if you're afraid?"

"That is the only time when a man can be brave, I think. Else there wouldn't be anything courageous about what they did. You knew that there was only one thing to be done, so you did it. You were afraid, but you didn't let your fear keep you from crossing a name off that list of yours." _I never thought about it that way. Maybe I was brave after all..._ "Someday you'll look back on that night with pride and tell your children about how you killed your first enemy."

"I don't think this is something I want to tell anyone about."

"You'll change your mind one day, I think. Boltons have long passed such stories down to their children and their children's children. I was five when my father told me about the first man he killed."

"But I'm a Stark, not a Bolton."

"It matters not at all. There is a proper way to raise a child." _Just because you told your children about the first time you killed someone doesn't mean that I have to, I...I'll just tell them that I killed Chiswyck instead._

"But shouldn't I kill my enemies without torturing them?"

"And where is the fun in that?"

"Fun?"

"Yes. Fun. You just told me that a part of you enjoyed killing Lord Vargo. The man was going to rape and murder you. This would have been a rather unfortunate development." _That's it? Unfortunate? That stupid goat was going to rape and murder me. It was unfortunate when Nymeria pooped under Sansa's bed. Well...it was unfortunate that mother saw her and realized what I was training Nymeria to do,_ Arya thought to herself with a wicked grin. "Close your eyes. No, close them all the way. Good. Now then, you say that Joffrey Lannister gave the order to cut off your father's head."

"Yes, my Lord."

"I want you to imagine that you have Joffrey alone in a room. You're holding the flaying knife that I gave you –"

"Vengeance!"

"Yes. Imagine that you are holding Vengeance. Think about what it was like when your father lost his head. Imagine Joffrey Lannister on the ground, begging you for mercy. Will you give it to him?"

"NO! Never! I'll kill him. I'll kill him again and again and again. I'll bury Vengeance in his throat and then I'll...I'll –"

"Flay him?"

"Right, I'll flay him and...wait...did I just –"

"Say you'd flay Joffrey Lannister? Yes. It matters not at all. Tell me, how did saying all of that make you feel?"

"I...it made me feel better, I think. At least a little bit..."

"And what is so terrible about that?"

"Nothing. It's wasn't so bad...not really."

"As you say."

"But what if mother and Robb do find out? They wouldn't understand and even if they did, they still wouldn't let me be a Stark anymore."

"They already don't want you in their House, I think. The two of them tried to sell you to the Freys for a bridge. If your kin had their way, you'd be Lady Frey – no, Princess Frey – of the Twins. They are fools, I think. You may be a little girl, but you are plainly far too brave to ever be a proper Lady." _I hate the Freys! Them and their stupid bridge. It probably wasn't even the bridge that Robb wanted...not really. Lord Bolton said the Freys are Tully bannermen. That means they're supposed to be just as loyal to uncle Edmure as Lord Bolton is to Robb. They'd let my brother cross the bridge if uncle Edmure needed his help, I know they would! And even if they didn't, Robb would've just taken the stupid bridge and cut off Lord Walder's head. And why would the Freys even want me anyway? They're not Northmen, so they'd never get Winterfell. They should hate me just as much as everyone else does, unless..._ _The Freys only agreed to take me to pay some sort of debt to House Stark,_ Arya realized.

"Are you sure they sold me for a bridge? What if they were just trying to get rid of me and didn't even want the bridge?"

"You wouldn't repeat any of what I say to you to your kin, would you?"

"No. Never! Sansa always liked to gossip about everyone, but I'd never do something like that. And half the secrets Sansa told people weren't even true besides."

"Very well. They wanted the bridge, that much is certain. It is simply worth more to them than you are, I think. I fear your kin have already all but disowned you; you'll never be one of them, as far as they're concerned."

"But I am one of them! I'm a Stark too! Sansa doesn't even want to live in the North and they still let her be one. She even prays to the Seven instead of the Old Gods. She –"

"You are a Stark today, but what of tomorrow? I fear it is only a matter of time before your kin sell you like a cheap slave at an auction. And if they try to marry you to another Frey –"

"They can't! It's not fair! They're my family; they're supposed to love me at least a little bit. Even if they hate me, they wouldn't do that to me...would they?"

"We shall see." _If they wanted to get rid of me that badly, they could've at least let me live at the Dreadfort. That way I'd be in the North and I would still have part of my pack. Lord Bolton wouldn't care whether or not I acted like a stupid, old Lady. He even said that his naturalborn son likes to take women with him when he goes hunting, so maybe he'll let me come with him one time if I ask. I wouldn't get to see my family except for when Lord Bolton traveled to Winterfell, but at least I'd be with people who care about me. No, that's stupid. Even if he is my friend, Lord Bolton would never let me do that and Winterfell is my home besides._

"But if they knew about Lord Vargo, they wouldn't just try to...I mean...they'd banish me from Winterfell forever, wouldn't they? I know you'd never tell them, but what if...what if one of your men saw something or –"

"No doubt. Your kin must never know what you did to that man. I fear that your mother and King Robb are not as enlightened as I am. It matters not at all."

"What do you mean?"

"If the day should come when your kin discover what you did, know that you will still have a home in the North."

"But I'm a Stark; Winterfell is my home."

"As you say. Even so, if you ever find that you can no longer rely upon the hospitality of Winterfell, you should know that you will always be welcome at the Dreadfort. In truth, I oft find that I can't help but think of you as one of my kin," replied Lord Bolton, mussing Arya's hair. _Robb's not allowed to do that anymore_ , the lone wolf decided. _Only Jon and Lord Bolton, and no one else._

"Really? I mean...I –"

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong; it's only...no one ever...thank you, my Lord."

"Oh and one more thing, if that day should come, I can promise you that I will never force you to marry a Frey or leave the North. Furthermore, I am quite certain that there is not a soul within my House who will care whether or not you wish to behave like a proper Lady. In truth, I have no doubt that my son Domeric would think just as highly of you as I do. You may be a Stark, but so long as I am alive there will always be a place for you at the Dreadfort should you ever find yourself in need of a home." Without thinking, Arya leapt up from her seat and hugged Lord Bolton.

This time, the Lord of the Dreadfort didn't snap at her. Instead, after initially trying to squirm away, he awkwardly began to move his hands toward her several times only to move them away again like a frightened child, plainly unsure of how he was supposed to respond.

"Thank you, my Lord. My family doesn't care about me...not really. All of the ones who are left hate me except for Jon. You can't be like my family; you actually care about me." _I wish my family treated me the way Lord Bolton does._ "I'm sorry, I...I forgot that you don't like to be hugged. I didn't do it on purpose. I really didn't," Arya insisted, as she nervously backed away and slumped down into her seat.

"I forgive you, but if you truly want to thank me then you will never do that to me again. I do not wish to be touched in such a manner; such things will make a man weak." _Weak? What does he mean? How could someone be so scared of a hug?_

"I'm sorry, my Lord. I promise I'll never hug you again. I really mean it this time!"

"Good. I will not permit you to make a habit of it. If it happens again, then I fear you will require a sharp lesson. Is that understood?" _If Lord Bolton doesn't want me to hug him than I'll never do it again, no matter how nice he is to me. I didn't even do it on purpose. Why does he care anyway? No, it doesn't matter...not really. All that matters is that Lord Bolton told me not to do it. He's usually right so maybe being hugged can make people weak...maybe._ Arya silently nodded at the Lord of the Dreadfort and lowered her sad, grey eyes in shame like a chastised child.

"Other children were oft cruel to you at Winterfell, were they not?"

"Yes, my Lord." _What does that have to do with anything?_

"Tell me about what they did to you."

"Do I have to," Arya groaned.

"Yes. Your brothers, Brandon and Rickon, were they ever cruel to you?"

"No, never. Bran could be annoying sometimes, but he was never mean to me...not really. And I always got along with Rickon."

"That is good to hear. You've mentioned your sister before, I think. Remind me, what did she do?"

"Sansa's friends were always calling me 'Arya Horseface.' Jeyne Poole would always neigh whenever she saw me."

"Was she a half-wit?"

"What? No. Riding a horse was the only thing that I could ever do better than Sansa, so they stole that from me."

"By neighing at you? Unless you can no longer ride a horse better than your sister, it sounds as though all that was lost was this Poole girl's dignity. And you are better than your sister at many other things besides."

"Really? I am?"

"Of course. You are far better at escaping from your enemies, killing sellswords, finding your way home, surviving on your own, and deceiving fools like Ser Robett, I think. Your talents simply happen to lie in areas that actually matter. I can't imagine why your parents considered you the disappointing child rather than your sister."

"Thank you, my Lord," Arya replied with an appreciative grin. She loved her sister, but few things could've made her happier than the thought of someone being disappointed in Sansa for once.

"Did your sister do anything else?"

"Sansa would always tell everyone at Winterfell whenever I did anything wrong. The worst part was that whenever she lost or broke something, she'd always say that it was me and mother always believed her."

"Your mother didn't care what Lady Sansa said so long as your sister provided her with an excuse to punish you, did she?"

"That's not true."

"No?"

"No! My mother still loved me when we were at Winterfell...even if she hates me now. "

"Are you certain? This is the same mother who tried to sell you to the Freys, I think. She plainly never –"

"My mother loved me, so stop trying to say she didn't! I...I mean...I didn't mean to raise my voice, I promise. I know I'm not allowed to do that when I'm talking to you, my Lord. Please don't be angry, I...I –" Lord Bolton's pale, blue eyes grew so cold that Arya nearly shivered. She bit her lip and began fidgeting nervously as her friend's lips twisted into a cruel smile. Arya could feel her heart racing, but that happened every time that she thought the Lord of the Dreadfort might be disappointed or angry with her. _That was stupid._ _Lord Bolton will be wroth with me and..._

"Very well; I forgive you."

"You do? You're not mad at me?"

"Of course not. A wise man knows how to keep his emotions in check. Do you take me for a Stark?"

"Hey, I'm a Stark!"

"For now..."

"What do you mean 'for now?' I'll always be a Stark."

"Not if your kin have their way. Speaking of your sister, I trust you are aware that the Lannisters have lost King's Landing."

"What? Is Sansa safe? Did Robb cut off Joffrey's head?" _Father wouldn't want me to be excited about that, but if it's justice like Lord Bolton said..._

"No. Stannis Baratheon took the capitol after setting Blackwater Bay on fire. Didn't I tell you this already? It matters not at all. Cersei Lannister was taken prisoner and it is known that the Imp's head has been mounted on the same spike where your father's head used to reside, but I fear that their dear nephew has escaped from King's Landing, if the reports I've been receiving are to be believed."

"How do you know that?"

"Your brother has named me Master of Whisperers. I fear it has become my business to know such things." _Lord Bolton is on Robb's Small Council? Maybe I'll still get to see him at Winterfell when the war is over...maybe._

"Is the war over? Robert Baratheon was father's friend and...it's not over, is it? Did something bad happen to Sansa?"

"What makes you think that?"

"You're smiling."

"Do you truly believe that I enjoy giving people bad news?"

"Yes."

"Our amusements are our own, I think. It matters not at all. Your brother refused to bend the knee, so Stannis named King Robb and all of those loyal to him as enemies of the crown. And your sister...well...I fear that the King in the North has already removed her from the line of succession in his will. It was in the message that he sent to all of the Northern Lords last night announcing his decision to name your father's bastard as his heir."

"What? Why?" _Did Jon leave the Wall? Is he coming back? Does mother know? Maybe she'll be so angry at Robb that she'll forget how much she hates me. No, that's stupid. And I don't want them to hate each other besides._

"King Robb wanted to keep Winterfell out of Southron hands, most like. It would seem that Stannis Baratheon has decided to force your sister to marry –"

"My Lord," shouted Lord Urswyck through the door, "it's Locke. He's captured the Kingslayer and a strange woman...or mayhaps it was a man, no one's quite sure. Said somethin' about sapphires too. The bitch was wearing armor and Locke says that whatever it is put up more of a fight than the Kingslayer. Then again, that beast had both of its hands which more than I can fer the Kingslayer."


	20. Arya V

**Davos**

"We cannot defeat Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell on our own, Your Grace. The Martells won't lift a finger to help us, not after what your brother Robert let Tywin Lannister do to Elia Martell and her children. The North is our only chance of winning this war," Davos insisted.

"And the knights of the Vale?"

"They serve Lysa Arryn, Your Grace. Robb Stark is her nephew; if we make an enemy of him, then we make an enemy of the her as well."

"Mayhaps. Robb Stark may be Lady Arryn's cousin, but the knights of the Vale did not come to his aid when the Lannisters took off Ned Stark's head," replied the King.

"Even if there is bad blood between the two, I doubt that will be enough to persuade Lady Arryn to declare for you."

"Very well, what do you propose? Lord Axell may be Hand of the King, but I'd trust a turnip before that man. I'll not fight alongside Ned Stark's son. Pity. If the boy had half the honor that his father...well...it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"Offer to betroth Sansa Stark to her son Robyn in exchange for the support of the Vale. It would give the boy a claim to the North and pit the Arryns against the Starks."

"Lady Sansa will remain in King's Landing until her brother bends the knee. I'll not reward the girl for her brother's crimes. If Robb Stark does so within a fortnight and withdraws from the Crownlands then I shall pardon the boy and the Lords who declared for him for their treason. Else I shall attaint the Starks, Tullys, and any of their bannermen and knights who follow Honor or treason, the choice is his, Lord Davos." _Lord Davos. How many smugglers can say they rose to become Master of Ships? Time enough for pride later. Right now, I must needs make him see reason before the Lannisters and Tyrells kill us all._ "As for Lysa Arryn and the knights of the Vale, I am their rightful King. You say I should offer to wed the Stark girl to Lord Robyn in exchange for the Vale's loyalty. Tell me, my Lord, why should I bargain for that which is mine by rights," asked the King, grinding his teeth.

"But Your Grace, betrothing Lady Sansa to any knight or Lord who brings you Joffrey Baratheon –"

"Joffrey Waters. The boy is a bastard born of incest and I said she'd be betrothed to any man who brought me that abomination alive besides."

"Joffrey Waters. It seems to me that we'd be wasting a valuable –"

"I've made my decision, Lord Davos. The bastard has King's blood and the Lady Melisandre has said that if I burn the bastard and the Sept of Baelor with him, I'll be able to kill every pretender in one stroke. Tommen Baratheon, Robb Stark, and Balon Greyjoy will all be dead and buried soon enough. We'll speak no more of it, is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And what of Dorne."

"What of it, Lord Davos? You don't truly believe a dragon burned Sunspear to the ground, do you?" _Mayhaps not, but something plainly happened there. There've been far too many rumors. Someone – or something – destroyed Sunspear and killed nearly everyone there in a matter of seconds. That's all any of the survivors could agree on, the poor bastards. I like this not at all._

...

The Master of Ships studied the most important prisoners – such as they were – and could not help pitying them. Among them were a knight of the King's Guard, Cersei Lanniser, Ser Ilyn Payne, and others whom Davos did not recognize. _No man deserves to be burned alive. You're a just man, Stannis; give the lot of them a clean death. It may be more than they ever gave their victims, but that's the whole bloody point. You're not like them. You're not just the one true King, you're the King that Westeros needs. You're the King and I'll never say you don't have the right to choose your advisors, but I truly worry some days. Each of that lot is worse than the last,_ Davos thought to himself as he glanced at the men who sat with him on the Small Council.

There was the new Master of Coin, Lord Celtigar, a man who hated his King near as much as the Lannisters. The Master of Laws, Lord Velaryon danced like a trained monkey to whatever tune the Hand of the King, Lord Axell Florent, chose to sing. Worse, the Red Woman sat in on every Small Council meeting. _Since the Battle of the Blackwater, Stannis has come to rely upon the Red Woman more and more with each passing day. I suppose I should count myself lucky that I managed to convince His Grace to eliminate the post of Master of Whisperers instead of giving it to another of those bloody lickspittles who are always circling him like vultures. Speaking of lickspittles, where is Lord Axell? The man never struck me as the type to miss a chance to see other men beg for their lives._

"I, Stannis of the House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm decree that Ser Ilyn of House Payne be granted safe passage back to Casterly Rock. From what I gather, the man has performed his duties honorably and done only that which was asked of him by the abomination he believed to be his King."

"But Your Grace –"

"I've made my decision and I'll hear no more about it, Lord Valeryon."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Your Grace, I –" blurted the sole surviving member of the King's Guard.

"You will speak when spoken to, Ser Meryn," growled the King.

"But Your Grace, I was only serving the man I believed to be my King too. I...I served him loyally and would do the same for you. Please, Your Grace, I never knew him for a bastard. The King told me to kill the Imp and I took off his head at the Blackwater, as any man of honor would."

"You would have me believe that the King ordered a member of the Kingsguard to behead his own Hand in full view of his army during an attack upon the capital? Tell me, Ser Meryn, how big a fool do you take me for?"

"But His Grace...I mean...Joffrey, he did. I swear on my honor that he gave me the order." _He can't truly believe this non-sense will work, can he? The bloody fool has lost his wits. Whatever Joffrey Waters may have been, he can't possibly have been mad enough to give such an order during a siege._

"You thought that you could save your own head by taking the Imp's once you saw that the battle was lost, most like," replied Lord Celtigar.

"You are man without honor, Ser Meryn. You are also plainly a liar, a traitor, and a craven. Since members of the Kingsguard serve for life, I fear it is not within my power to replace you at this time. You'll spend your final hours in one of the black cells and offered to the Lord of Light tonight."

"But Your Grace –"

"Get him out of my sight. Cersei Lannister as well. I'll see both of them burn before the day is done," snapped the King as the guards dragged the wailing knight out of the throne room. Cersei did not have to be carried, not until she heard a voice cry out from the hallway. After that, it took three men to restrain her and drag her out of the room.

"I am the King! You can't do this! Traitors! I...I'll execute all of you!"

"Joffrey? Release me, this minute. Please! Let me see my son. Don't hurt him! Burn me instead! I'll do anything! Joffrey? Joffrey, is that you? JOFFREY," screamed Cersei from the other end of the throne room.

"Mother? Mother, is that you? Tell them, mother! Tell them that I am the King and they have to let me go! Mother? Please...I...you can't! I...I am the King...I...or I surrender. You can me King, uncle. I don't want the Iron Throne anymore. I really don't! I didn't mean any of it. I never wanted to hurt anyone. It...it was all mother's idea. She made me take the throne. It was her, uncle, she made me do it! It didn't want to be King! It was mother and that stupid dwarf's fault. Or Littlefinger or...or...it can be anyone you want. Let me go! Please, don't hurt me," sobbed the eldest Lannister bastard. _How could such a boy ever sit on the Iron Throne? Who would ever follow him?_

"Your Grace," shouted Lord Axell with a smile as he strolled into the throne room, "allow me to present you with a small gift: the false King Joffrey Waters."


	21. Sansa I

**Arya**

"Wait! What about Sansa? What happens if no one finds Joffrey or if he's already dead?"

"I fear there is nothing that can be done for your sister. It matters not at all. I have no doubt your mother and King Robb will do everything that they can to get her back. I understand that her fate matters a great deal to them." _Lord Bolton's probably right, just like he is about everything else._

"Can I see the Kingslayer?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

"I just...wanted to see a Lannister taken prisoner for once is all."

"Very well. Tell me, how would you like to throw a few stones at him?"

"Stones? What do you mean?"

"Yes. Stones. Or food, if you wish. You would enjoy it a great deal, I think."

"I guess so, only..."

"Yes?"

"Are you sure?"

"You should aim for his head, I think. Oh and one more thing, you will throw the first one as soon as I tell him about his sister and not a moment earlier. Is that understood?"

"Yes! I mean...yes, my Lord. And I won't miss his stupid head either!"

"See that you don't."

...

"Lord Bolton, allow me to present you with a small gift. I give you the Kingslayer and his...traveling companion, or if you prefer m'Lord, the Bear and the Maiden Fair," announced Locke. "Course you'll have to decide fer yourself which is which," he added with a smug grin, as he forced his prisoners to their knees. _Traveling companion?_ Arya liked the woman – and it was indeed a woman – who had been taken prisoner alongside the Kingslayer the moment she saw her. The woman was larger than any of her captors and she was wearing armor instead of a dress. _She probably had nothing to do with the stupid Kingslayer. Lord Bolton might even let her go and...no, that's stupid. Locke already said she was traveling with the Kingslayer. Lord Bolton will give her to Qyburn, most like,_ Arya thought to herself sadly as she gathered several small stones from the ground.

 _Lord Bolton probably won't let her go even if I ask him to, but I have to try. No! Mercy is for the weak! I am not weak. I am a direwolf. I won't ask him to let her live, but maybe he'll let her have a clean death...maybe. Father said... It doesn't matter what father said. Father, he...he said a lot of things and the Lannisters took his head off all the same. Lord Bolton said mercy is for the weak and he's still alive. When winter comes, the pack dies and only the lone wolf survives. I am a lone wolf...just like Lord Bolton._

The Kingslayer didn't look anything like the man who had visited Winterfell years ago. He was beaten, battered, and broken. He wore no armor and was as thin as a twig. _If I bend one of his arms, will it snap off? No, that's stupid. This isn't the Kingslayer,_ Arya decided. _He's too weak and his face is all wrong besides._ The man had green eyes, to be sure, but they were the sad, lonely eyes of a man who had lost all he had ever been and all that he ever would be. There was no sign of the chiseled jaw that Sansa had once spent nearly an hour babbling about, only a thick beard that had more knots than Arya's hair. There was a rotting hand hanging from a string around the man's neck. That was also wrong. _The Kingslayer had two hands when he visited Winterfell._

"Locke."

"Yes, m'Lord?"

"Why is the Kingslayer's hand hanging from his neck?" _That's him? That's really the Kingslayer? If Lord Bolton says it's the Kingslayer then maybe... Good! I'm glad it's him! I wish I was there when they cut off his stupid hand. I wouldn't have looked away; that's what Sansa would've done. I won't look away when the Lannisters and their men are killed. Never! I am a direwolf and I'm not afraid. Tywin Lannister, Joffrey, and the rest of the stupid Lannisters are the ones who should be afraid. Soon Robb and Lord Bolton will kill them all, every one. Robb will kill Stannis too, most like. Even if he doesn't want me back, he won't stop fighting until Sansa's safe. It's not Sansa's fault that mother and Robb only care what happens to her...not really._

"To remind the Kingslayer of his place, m'Lord. He's just some golden-haired little shit who wouldn't be anything without that hand and his –"

"Get that thing out of my sight before I have your tongue out."

"Yes, m'Lord," replied Locke as he yanked away the Kingslayer's hand and tossed it off to the side.

"I am Lord Roose of House Bolton. The two of you may rise; you are both under my protection." _Lord Bolton won't protect them...not really. He'll say he's withdrawn his protection as soon as he's ready to punish the Kingslayer. I know he will! He's just playing with them is all._

"Thank you, my Lord," muttered the woman. "Lady Catelyn has ordered me to bring the Kingslayer to King's Landing and exchange him for her daughters." _Mother wouldn't do that!_ Arya opened her mouth to call the strange woman a liar, but closed it before uttering a single word. _Lord Bolton will be wroth with me if I say anything right now. And he won't believe her stupid old Lannister lies besides. Even if she is a liar, I don't want him to hurt her...not really._ No matter how hard she tried, Arya found that he could not bring herself to hate the woman. There was something about the way she spoke and carried herself that was distinctly different from any Lannister soldier that the lone wolf had ever seen. The prisoner plainly lacked the arrogance, cruelty, and low-cunning that the Lannister seemed to expect from those who served them.

"And who might you be, my Lady" asked the Lord of the Dreadfort mildly. His expressionless features were as menacing as a single shark fin racing toward a castaway.

"I am Brienne of Tarth, daughter of Lord Selwyn Tarth," replied the woman. Arya smiled sadly at the way Brienne winced the moment the words "my Lady" left Lord Bolton's mouth. _She never wanted to be a boring, old Lady either and didn't let anyone make her one...not her mother, not her father, and not whatever stupid Lord they probably tried to force her to marry._ Arya smiled – happily this time – as she tried to imagine how Catelyn would have reacted to the sight of her youngest daughter wearing armor.

"Curious. I was never told of any such agreement. Mayhaps Qyburn simply misplaced the raven. I did hear that your father declared for Joffrey Lannister once Renly Baratheon was slain. Forgive me, I fear my memory isn't what it once was; that was before you have helped the Kingslayer escape, was it not?"

"I swore to serve and protect Lady Catelyn and no one else. I swear upon my honor that she –"

"Yes, yes, yes, she told you to bring the Kingslayer to the capitol and exchange him for her daughters. And there's no need for any vows, my Lady. Your honor matters not at all." Something changed in Brienne's face after that remark and she no longer looked quite as tall. "Now then, Lady Catelyn trusted you, the daughter of a Lord sworn to serve the man who had her husband executed, to return the Kingslayer to the Lannisters. I wonder, why would she trust you with such an important task?" _She wouldn't! It's just some stupid Lannister lie..._

"The beast before you may be many things, but I assure you that she is not a liar, my Lord. Lady Catelyn freed me just as she said. The woman loves her daughters near as much as Cersei loves her children. She put aside her hatred and freed me even after I told her that I pushed her son out of –" Four stones flew through the air and hit the Kingslayer in the face. He stumbled backward in surprise, slipped, and fell to the ground. The once proud lion hit his head on a large rock and – after a grunt of pain – became as silent as a shadow. _Lord Bolton won't care that I threw the stones early...not really. The Kingslayer's still breathing,_ Arya realized with a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

Locke started laughing, Brienne was plainly confused more than anything else, and for once Lord Bolton made no effort to hide his thoughts. For the three seconds that he stared at Arya, his face was an open book. _He's disappointed in me because I threw the stones too early. He's not angry; he just...he trusted me and I... I can't even tell him that I didn't mean to do it, not with other people around. Who cares when I threw the stones? They're just stupid rocks. I didn't miss either, not even once. And it was the stupid Kingslayer's fault besides. I didn't want to throw the stones before Lord Bolton told him about his brother and sister, but he said that he pushed Bran out the window at Winterfell and...it doesn't matter. All that matters is that Lord Bolton needed me to wait and I didn't. That was stupid!_

 _Lord Bolton will never hate me, but I can't let him down like that ever again. If I do, he'll never bring me back to the Dreadfort with him...not even if Robb and mother agree to it. They probably don't even care where I live as long as its not Winterfell,_ Arya thought to herself, biting her lip. _I won't disappoint Lord Bolton ever again! He'll see! The next time he tells me to do something I don't want to do, I'll do it anyway. And I won't argue with him either. He'll forgive me, I know he will! He has to, he...he's my best friend; he's the only friend I'll ever have for the rest of my life, most like. I'll never see Jon again and he's probably dead besides. Lord Bolton is the only person left who still cares about me. I can't lose him! I won't disappoint him again! Never!_

 _It wouldn't be so bad to live at the Dreadfort...not really. It's in the North and Lord Bolton will bring me with him whenever he visits Winterfell if I ask him to, I know he will! The Boltons just call their the Dreadfort to scare people, most like. It can't be too different from Winterfell. Lord Bolton said he thought his son Domeric would like me and if I'm nice to his baseborn son then Ramsay will probably take me with him whenever he goes hunting. He also said his trueborn son was only a few years older than me, so Domeric might even want to have swordfights in the Godswood like Bran and I did at Winterfell. I bet Lord Bolton would even let us use tourney swords instead of tree branches! There have to be servants at the Dreadfort too and the ones at Winterfell were always nice to me. Maybe I will have other friends, after all...maybe._

 _Winterfell is my home, but the Dreadfort...it...it could me my home. I could be happy there and I'd be with people who cared about me. Lord Bolton said none of his kin would care whether or not I wanted to be a proper Lady, so they'd never try to change me. I'd be safe too. The Boltons would never let someone like Theon Greyjoy burn down the Dreadfort, I know they wouldn't! No! I can't live there, it...it doesn't matter how happy I'd be at the Dreadfort...not really. I have a family and they'll always be my family, even if they hate me. If I was at the Dreadfort again, I'd never see mother, Robb or Sansa again and...and it would probably make them happier than anything that I could ever do for them._ _It's not fair! They're my family; they're supposed to love me no matter what. I still love them after everything they tried to do to me. Father, Jon, Bran, and Rickon all cared about me, but they're all dead._

 _It will be better for everyone if I go back to the Dreadfort with Lord Bolton and live there. Sansa, mother, and Robb will all be happier that way. The Boltons can be my family; they actually care about me...or they will once they've all met me. Lord Bolton already cares about me more than mother and Robb do; he's the only left who'd even notice if I died. The next time he asks me to do something he knows I don't want to do, I'll do it! Soon Lord Bolton will be proud of me again and after he's forgiven me for throwing the stupid stones too early, I'll ask mother and Robb to let me live at the Dreadfort._

"I fear any further conversation shall have to wait until our guest awakens from his slumber. The Kingslayer's journey has left him quite tired, I think," said Lord Bolton in a voice as soft as a whisper. "Once Qyburn has treated his injuries, I want him placed in a cell."

"Yes, m'Lord," replied Locke.

"My Lord, Lady Catelyn has –"

"Tell me, Lady Brienne, after Lady Catelyn freed the Kingslayer and told you to bring him to the capitol, did you encounter any Northmen?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Soldiers?"

"Yes, three of them, but –"

"And I trust they let you pass unmolested since you were instructed to deliver the Kingslayer to the capitol by Lady Catelyn herself."

"No, my Lord. They tried to take us prisoner," muttered Brienne, her face darkening as what had always been plain to everyone else in the courtyard slowly began to dawn on her. _At least give her a clean death..._ The Lord of the Dreadfort glanced at Arya for a moment and his lips twisted into a thin smile. _Is he doing this to punish me?_ She bit her lip when she noticed the way that he was looking at Brienne. _He's going to give her to Qyburn._

"And yet here you stand. Tell me, Lady Brienne, why is that? Did these soldiers let you pass once you explained the situation to them? It was nothing more than a simple misunderstanding, is that what you would have me believe, my Lady?" _Stop calling her that, she hates it. Please, I'm sorry! I really am! Stop dragging it out! She still doesn't understand,_ Arya realized.

"No, my Lord. They attacked us and I was forced to kill them, but I swear on my honor that –"

"I see. It matters not at all. As I said, your honor means nothing to me. Do you have anything of value to swear upon?"

"My Lord, I –"

"Gold? A prisoner whose life I care about? Mayhaps a new title? Surely you at least have lands that you can grant me, do you not?" _I'm sorry, I...please forgive me! I'm so sorry for whatever he's going to do. I wanted him to hurt the Kingslayer, not you. I'm sorry, I..._

"No."

"No? Is that all?"

"No, my Lord," Brienne seethed.

"I see. Pity. In that case, I fear you are worth nothing to me, my Lady. Lord Urswyck."

"Yes, m'Lord?"

"When was your last fed?"

"A day and a half ago, m'Lord."

"Good. This woman's father declared for Joffrey Lannister after Renly Baratheon died and I fear that actions have consequences. Strip her of her armor, dress her in rags, and throw her in the bear pit. Make a deep cut in her chest so that the bear will be drawn to the blood, but see to it that you do not kill her. If you do, then I fear you will force me to have you thrown to your death in her place."

"Yes, m'Lord." Brienne screamed and struggled, but there were too many soldiers. Arya wanted to beg Lord Bolton to make his men stop, but she knew that he'd be even more wroth with her if she did that.

"Girl," said the Lord of the Dreadfort, motioning for Arya to come closer.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Wait for me inside. I will speak with you alone about your behavior momentarily."

"Yes, my Lord...I mean...yes, m'Lord," replied Arya nervously as it dawned on her that she was about to receive a "sharp lesson."

...

 _This is all my fault, if I hadn't thrown those stupid stones... No! I...I have to be strong. Lord Bolton said mercy is for the weak. I am not weak. I am a direwolf. He's going to make me watch,_ Arya realized as the Lord of the Dreadfort slowly approached her. _It's going to happen either way, but at least if I ask him then maybe..._

"My Lord, could...I mean...can I watch," asked Arya, hoping she didn't sound as miserable as she felt. Lord Bolton's cold, passive expression slid off like a mask the moment he heard her words. For a moment, his face was a mixture of pride, surprise, and genuine happiness. Arya shuddered. The Lord of the Dreadfort was looking at her like a mother whose newborn babe had just spoken its first word and somehow it was near as terrifying as Qyburn.

"You want to watch Lord Urswyck's bear eat that woman? Are you quite certain? I thought you might be fond of her." _I knew it! He was punishing me! Maybe now he'll give her a clean death and find some other way. At least...at least he's proud of me again._

"I am...I mean...I was, my Lord. I hoped you'd give her a clean death, even if she does serve the Lannisters, but you wouldn't throw her in bear pit unless she deserved it and we shouldn't feel bad about justice being done. You said we should enjoy it, even if it seems harsh."

"As you say. And you truly believe that you would enjoy watching a defenseless woman get eaten alive by a bear? You would consider that justice?" It was so unusual to see the Lord of the Dreadfort look this happy that Arya had to keep reminding herself that it was still him and not an energetic child.

"Yes, my Lord," replied Arya nervously. _It's too late to change my mind. If I made him this happy and he finds out I'm lying, he'll never forgive me. I don't know why he cares so much whether I want to watch him feed that poor woman to a bear, but he can be very strange sometimes. I have to watch now, unless...  
_  
"Lord Bolton?"

"Yes?"

"If she is a Lord's daughter, maybe...couldn't you just...I mean...isn't it dangerous to play with important prisoners. Their families might try to get revenge."

"Clever girl. Fortunately, Lord Selwyn Tarth lives in the Stormlands and lacks the wealth to pay a large ransom. His reach does not extend nearly this far North, I think. Of course, you are quite right; a wise man does not antagonize valuable prisoners. My bastard could learn a great deal from you, I think." Arya couldn't help smiling at that remark. _I'm glad Lord Bolton's forgiven me; he likes me even more than he did before I threw the stones, most like. I just...I just wish it wasn't because of something horrible is all._ The Lord of the Dreadfort mussed her hair and Arya's smile grew even wider. Whenever he did that, she couldn't stay sad...not really. It reminded her that there was still someone left who cared about her...no matter what she had done. It also reminded her of Jon. "You must always remember that there is no shame in enjoying such things, no matter how often you are forced to pretend you do not for the benefit of fools like your brother. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good. In that case, of course you may watch. I am very proud of you. Prouder than I have ever been of my bastard, I think. I trust you won't look away until it is over."

"No, my Lord. I want to watch! I really do!" _It's going to happen anyway and if it's the only way to get to the Dreadfort... I won't look away, not even once._

"I know you do." Suddenly, the joy vanished from Lord Bolton's face and he looked as though he were extremely frustrated by something.

"Is something wrong, my Lord?"

"When I told you that if the day ever came –"

"Can I live with your family at the Dreadfort?"

"What?"

"You said there would always be a place for me there. You said –"

"I did and you shall always be welcome there. You must needs ask your mother and King Robb, I think. We shall ride for Riverrun tomorrow, so you will see both of them soon enough. If they consent then I have no objection. When you do, be sure to tell them that it was your idea. Your mother will prefer hearing it that way, I think."

"Riverrun? We are? I mean...I will! They won't even care! I know they won't," shouted Arya. The excitement was too much and she couldn't even decide which thing to be happy about first.

"As you say." Arya ran over to hug the Lord of the Dreadfort, but pulled her arms away just in time upon remembering how much he hated being touched.

"No, it's...fine," grumbled Lord Bolton, looking more and more miserable with each passing second.

"But you said it makes people weak."

"No, I meant...it's just...I don't mind. I have...decided that you are free to...do that to me if you wish. Go on. Do it if you must."

"You don't look like you're okay with it."

"As I said, I oft find myself thinking of you as though you were my kin. In truth, I feel as though I have gained a daughter of sorts. If you truly find such...behavior comforting then I fear I shall be forced to indulge it for your sake. You will grow out of it soon enough, I think. Until then, if doing...that to me makes you happy then I must needs suffer it for the moment. I fear such things are expected of me," seethed the Lord of the Dreadfort through clenched teeth. "If Domeric asks me again when I ever sacrificed –"

"You...I...I don't understand. You hate it, but you'll let me because it might make me feel better? You...you actually care about me that much? But no one...I mean...no one who is alive would ever... And I'm like a...you care...as much as you do about...about your own children? Really? Are you sure?" For once, Arya's tears were borne not from grief, but from happiness. _He may not be a Stark, but he's treating me better than mother or Robb ever would. He's as much my family as they are_ , Arya decided.

"Yes," replied Lord Bolton. The word had barely left his mouth when Arya leapt into the air and hugged him the way she had hugged Jon after he gave her Needle. The Lord of the Dreadfort simply stood still, looking down in painful confusion at the 12 year-old girl wrapped around him like a straight-jacket. Lord Bolton coughed loudly as if to signal that he wanted to be released. Finally, resigned to the fact that the child was not going to stop clinging to him until she was good and ready, Lord Bolton awkwardly placed his arms ever so slightly on top of her back, but Arya didn't notice his muddled attempt to return her hug anymore than she had his coughing. She simply continued to hug the Lord of the Dreadfort as tightly as she could, closed her eyes, and smiled, secure in the knowledge that the worst days of her life would soon be over.

...

The fight was over before it began and Arya was grateful for that, if little else about sick game. _It's Lord Urswyck's bear, not Lord Bolton's bear. It's all Lord Urswyck's fault. Lord Bolton wouldn't have done it if I hadn't thrown the stones early. None of this is Lord Bolton's fault. He's only punishing me because I forced him to; he doesn't enjoy watching this anymore than I do. It's not his fault! It was all stupid Lord Urswyck!_ Arya silently repeated the words over and over again until she truly believed every one of them with all her heart.

Within minutes, Brienne had stopped screaming and the bear was ripping something pink out of her belly. Arya glanced at the Lord of the Dreadfort and he nodded at her approvingly. _I didn't look away, not even once. I'll never have to see or do anything like this ever again. I'm finally going home. Maybe to the home where I always belonged...maybe. I'll see mother and Robb one last time and then...then I'll never lose anyone ever again. No one will make fun of me or call me "Arya horseface" again either. I'll be safe for the rest of my life with people who care about me and who will never try to change me._


	22. Arya VI

**Sansa**

"Lady Sansa, do you know why you are here," asked the strange, bald man sitting on the Iron Throne. _He won't hurt me. Father was going to declare for Stannis and he wouldn't declare for someone who wasn't a friend to the North. He'll send me to Riverrun as soon as it's safe, I know he will! He's already been fighting the Lannisters with Robb, most like. And his brother Robert was father's best friend besides. Stannis is nothing like Joffrey or the Queen,_ Sansa decided.

 _The King looks so angry; why is he grinding his teeth? Did I do something wrong? He doesn't think I wanted to be betrothed to Joffrey, does he? I had no choice! How can he blame me for that,_ wondered the wolf in exile, frowning. _No! I just have to act as befits a proper Southron Lady and King Stannis will realize that I'm good. He'll see! Then he'll send me back to my family. Arya, Bran, Rickon, and father may all be dead, but I still have mother and Robb. I belong with them, not in King's Landing._

"Yes, Your Grace. Now that the Lannisters have been defeated, you're going to let me go home to my mother and brother," replied Sansa, doing her best curtsey. _What? Why is that fat man with the big ears snickering at me? What's going on? He shouldn't be looking at me that way either. It was bad enough when Ser Meryn stared at me like that...not that it did me any good when Joffrey told him to beat me._

"The Lannisters have not been defeated, my Lady. Lord Tywin and the Tyrells still hold the Reach and the Westerlands. They have already declared for the bastard Tommen Waters by now, most like. If it is any comfort to you, your brother has already made it known that your sister was found at Harrenhal. It would seem that she has been betrothed to Waltyr Frey." _Arya escaped? That's impossible! She died, everyone said so. Even Joffrey and his mother thought that...no...if anyone would make it out of the capitol, I suppose it would be her,_ Sansa thought to herself with a small smile. _Harrenhal is all the way in the Riverlands. How did she make it that far? She can tell be all about it when I get to Riverrun._

 _And they found a proper husband for her? I knew she'd become a Lady someday; she must be so excited for her wedding! I bet she's counting the days until she can marry Waltyr Frey...whoever that is. I never thought she'd be married before me._ As happy as she was for her sister, Sansa couldn't help envying her ever so slightly upon making this realization. _My husband won't be anything like Joffrey. Arya will be the jealous one at my wedding! I'll marry a gallant knight or maybe even a handsome Lord. Not a prince though..._

"But you're still sending me home, aren't you, Your Grace? My brother Robb has been helping you fight the Lannisters and he'll fight even harder once I'm home; I know he will!"

"You will not leave the Red Keep, my Lady."

"But then how am I going to get back to my...wait...you don't mean...but...why would...no! You can't! I mean...please Your Grace, I –"

"A King may do as he pleases." _Joffrey said that too. No! No! No! No! Is he...no...no...that's not fair...he can't be like Joffrey._ It took all of Sansa's self-control not to throw up the moment Stannis Baratheon spoke his nephew's favorite refrain.

"But your brother, he...he...was a friend of my father. My father...he supported your claim and –"

"And your brother is a traitor. Your mother is a traitor. You and your sister are traitors too, most like."

"What? No! I'm not a...Robb is fighting the Lannisters too, Your Grace. How could he be a traitor?"

"He has declared himself King in the North. Your brother is another pretender, no different than the false King Tommen Waters or the false King Balon Greyjoy."

"My brother...he only did that while fighting Joffrey. He's not a traitor, he's good! He –"

"The man is a traitor. You may thank him for your confinement in King's Landing if your Lord husband ever permits you to see him again."

"What?"

"You will wed Lord Axell Florent and he shall become Lord of Winterfell," replied the King glancing at the big-eared man standing to his left. _No! Please, not him! I survived Joffrey and the rest of the Lannisters. Father declared for Stannis; we were good. And Arya got away! She probably had an easy journey. She's with mother right now, most like. She must be singing, dancing, and preparing for her wedding right now. It's not fair! No...it's not...none of what happened is her fault. I'm glad one of us escaped, only...it isn't fair. I should have been the one who...I mean...why was there never a chance for me to escape? It's not fair; I was always good. I don't deserve this! It isn't fair!_

"Lord Florent, you will not touch the Stark girl until after you've consummated your marriage. Anything you put inside of her before then, you will lose. Is that understood?" For a moment the big-eared man looked as though he were about to strike the King on the Iron Throne, but the glare vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"Yes, Your Grace," snarled Lord Florent.

...

The flesh melted off Meryn Trant's bones as the man screamed from his pyre. _No one deserves to die this way...not even Ser Meryn. Why do I have to watch? Robb's not a traitor and I didn't even do anything besides._ As she watched Cersei Lannister struggling to fight back tears as flames raced toward her, something deep within Sansa broke...something that not even her family could ever fix. The sight of a mother – even one as wicked as Cersei – pleading for her son's life with her dying breath before her sobs turned to screams as the flames turned her feet first to bone and then to dust was simply too much. One moment Sansa was fine and the next she was screaming hysterically.

"Burn me! Burn me! I'm sick of it! Why won't you burn me? Please, I'm done...I can't...I...please, no more!"

"That's right, burn her! Sansa...she made me do it! She tricked me...I never wanted to hurt anyone...I...burn her instead. No, please, don't...don't hurt me," begged Joffrey as the flames crept closer and closer. _No one deserves to die like that! I shouldn't have to watch this; I was always good! It's not fair! Arya never did anything she was supposed to and...and now...she should be here watching this, not me! Why can't it be her instead?_ Sansa looked down at the ground in shame the moment the thought crossed her mind as Joffrey's bones turned to ash. _She's my sister! It isn't her fault that I'm here while she gets to sing, dance, get married, and see our family again even though she never tried to act like a Lady while I did everything those stupid stories and songs said...no, it isn't her fault. It isn't her fault. It isn't her fault. It isn't...it isn't...it isn't fair!_


	23. Bran IV

**Bran**

"Master," whimpered Reek. _I...I just have to call him that until Domeric takes Rickon and me to the Wall. Once we've escaped; I'll never...but...but there is no escape! Master will know and he'll hurt us. Master knows everything! We are his good and loyal Reek! We are Reek always and forever!_

 _My name isn't Reek; it's Brandon Stark. Shhhhh. Master will hear you; look at him, he already knows. He'll hurt us and...and... What's wrong with you, Reek? Don't you want to escape? Escape? No! Never! Master clothes us, feeds us, and puts a roof over our head. What could be better than what we have here? Even if we wanted to get away, there is no escape. Our master needs his Reek and we need our master. How can you even think about abandoning him after everything he's done for us? What do you mean "after everything he's done for us?" Reek, he's a monster. All he's done is hurt us...I mean...hurt me. No, he doesn't just hurt me, he also hurts Rickon sometimes,_ Bran silently screamed.

 _Rickon just is a hateful little monster who wants to steal away our master. He wants to give our master to death. Death can't have him! Don't ever talk about my brother that way again, Reek! Why can't you just go away? If master gives us permission when he answers my question, then we have to warn him about the treason that Domeric is plotting. It's the only way we can stay here at the Dreadfort where we belong. I already have a home; my place is at Winterfell. NO! Master burned down the bad place. He saved us from the monsters who lived there. SHUT UP!_

 _At least I'm free from you in my dreams. I don't need to walk there...not when I'm a dragon flying toward the Dreadfort. One of my brothers even left Essos with me, but he stopped following me and went his own way after we burned down that city in Dorne. He's also traveling to the North though, I know he is! The Dreadfort? But that would mean...no, please don't hurt our master!_

 _When I get here, I'm going to eat your precious master and burn the Dreadfort to the ground; did you know that, Reek? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! It's just a dream, Reek. But...but...but...if you dream about hurting him, you might trick yourself into thinking we can hurt him. If that happens, you...you might not warn master about Rickon the next time that ungrateful little brat is about to stab our master in the foot with broken glass. Domeric shouldn't have laughed at that. Why does he punish master for helping us remember our name? He should've punished Rickon for trying to do that, but instead he scolded us for interfering and punished master for hitting us until we said our name. My name is...Brandon...STARK! Shhhh...master, he...he's looking at us._

"Yes, Reek? Go on, out with it."

"I...nothing. I forget what I was going to say. And my name's not 'Reek,' it's –" Before Bran could finish the sentence, the bastard punched him in the face. _Why did you make him do that? We had a deal! We would be me whenever master was around and you would pretend to be Brandon Stark whenever master left. I'm not pretending; my name really is Brandon Stark. Is not! Is so! Is not! Is so!_

"NO! That was very bad," snapped Ramsay. "I don't know why you insist on making everything harder than it needs to be. Now then, we'll start at the beginning; what is your name?" _Just tell master the truth; that's all he wants to hear. Shut up, Reek!_

"My name is Bran –" *THUD* This time, the blue-eyed monster slammed Bran's head into the wall so hard that he nearly lost consciousness. _Please, master only does it because he loves us! GO AWAY!_

"LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE," screamed Rickon, kicking over a chair. _No! What are you doing? Rickon, why can't you just shut up like we...I mean...like I told you to? Seven Hells! What's the point of putting myself through this if I can't make Ramsay forget about you? There is no point. We should just tell master our name before...shut up, Reek!_

"What did you say?"

"I said leave my brother alone you stupid, walnut-headed bastard!"

"You really shouldn't call other people names," snarled Ramsay as he approached the youngest Stark. "I've alway hated people who do things like that. I'm afraid I simply can't stand bullies, can I, Reek?"

"No, master!" _Stop making me call him that! No! But we had a deal! I don't care! Master will hear you and...please go away, Reek. You go away; I was here first. Master doesn't want you! I don't have time to argue with you right now._

"He's not your master, Bran. Stop calling him that!"

"That's not his name," snapped Ramsay as he slowly unsheathed a hunting knife that had been hanging on his belt. _Why isn't he smiling? Normally he smiles and talks in a friendly voice right before he hurts someone. That's because the little...his name is Rickon! Rickon! Rickon! Rickon! Not 'little shit!' Fine, but whatever his name is, he shouldn't have called master the bad word. You can't even think it around him. You mean 'bastard?' SHUT UP! You...you thought the bad word; now he'll have to hurt us too. Why would you make him do that? He can't hear us...I mean...he can't hear me...wait a second, why am I still arguing with you? Rickon needs me; I have to do...something._ "You see this knife? That's it, take a good look at it, you little shit. This knife and I are going to teach you how to behave like a good little boy. Of course, it hardly matters since I'm still going to kill you as soon as I'm done. Don't worry though, by the time we're done, you'll be begging me to put you out of your misery."

"I don't care; Domeric said you're going to die as soon as your stupid father gets back." _What are you doing? Domeric never said anything like that! I told you not to try and play them against each other. It won't work; they'll just kill all three of us. How am I supposed to save you now? You can't save him; no one can. SHUT UP!_

"What...what did you just say?" For a moment, Bran could've sworn he saw a look of genuine fear on the monster's face, but it was gone before he could be sure.

"Your brother is a stupid walnut-head, just like you and he said...he said that your stupid father told him he was going to kill you when he got back if you hurt my brother and –"

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you? No, you're much too young to pull off something like that. Listen to me very, very carefully, when my father returns you and your brother –"

"We'll say whatever you want, just don't hurt him," shouted Bran. _Rickon, why are you doing this? Can't you see that Ramsay always knows what everyone is thinking? Well...he doesn't know about the dreams, but he knows everything else._

"Shut up, Reek!"

"Yes, master," Reek whimpered.

"Stop calling my brother that, you walnut-headed bastard!"

"You will NOT call me that word again. Do you hear me," asked Ramsay. The monster was so focused on the little boy's taunts that he didn't even notice that a fourth person had entered the room.

"You can't hurt us now," Rickon insisted, sticking his tongue out.

"Pretty sure of that, aren't you?"

"It's true! And I won't stop calling you a bastard until you stop calling my brother 'Reek.'"

"I'm afraid you forgot just one tiny little thing," replied Ramsay. "I can just kill you right now, blame Skinner, and your brother will say that he saw the whole thing happen however I say it did." Reek opened his mouth to warn his master about the bad man standing behind him, but Bran closed it before he could make a sound. _He's going to kill our master; we have to warn him! You said your master knows everything, so why does he need you to warn him? He's just testing us, most like. We have have to show master that we are his good and loyal Reek, remember? He ordered you to be quiet, so why would you want to disobey him by talking?_ That shut Reek up and he watched in horror through Bran's eyes as a meat cleaver was lifted high in the air behind his master's head. Rickon, plainly trying to keep the monster from turning around, spat at feet.

"Fuck it, you're not worth training. I'll just start taking things right now; first thing's first, I'm afraid we'll have to start with castration. We wouldn't want a cunt like you to breed, would we?"

"Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. BASTARD!"

"Seven Hells, can't you at least let me enjoy killing you? Wait, what are you staring at? Why aren't you afraid?"

"He is looking at me, I think," answered Domeric. Without another word, he sliced off his half-brother's left ear in a single stroke, stopping just above Ramsay shoulder. The monster fell to the ground and began howling in pain.

"You...you fucking fuck...you...you cut off my...my fucking ear."

"You did not use it to listen when I told you that you were not to harm my future good-brothers' until father returned. I thought it might have been purely decorative since you'd never be so foolish as to deliberately disobey me. This is a far better look for you, I think."

"Returned to kill me...that little brat...little...he told me...what...what you said...father told you...to kill...kill me," gasped Ramsay.

"I said nothing of the sort."

"He said –"

"And you believed him?" Before Ramsay could reply, Domeric knocked Rickon unconscious by slamming the boy's head into the stone wall, grabbed his half-brother by his hair, dragged him across the floor, pulled him out of the room.

"I'm going to...going to kill...you. Father won't be...won't be alive for-forev –" Domeric slammed the door in his half-brother's face so hard that for a moment, the ground itself seemed to shake. He turned around and slowly made his way toward Bran.

"I fear you seem to be the only other sane man in the room. I shall have to speak with you, I think." _We have to kill the bad man for hurting master. If your precious master wanted us...I mean...wanted me to do that, wouldn't he have ordered you to do it by now?_ Reek found that he couldn't argue with that logic, no matter how much he hated it.

"I have nothing to say to you. You could've killed Rickon!"

"I thought you had nothing to say? Hmm...I fear you have the right of it. Your brother is indeed still alive, I think. I'll have to discipline him more harshly next time." _We are going to kill you someday._

"You promised that you wouldn't hurt us."

"I fear you will have to learn to be more considerate of other people's needs if you ever wish to make any friends, little Lord. I needed to punish your brother for whatever lies he told my father's bastard and that far outweighed any promises which I may or may not have made to the two of you in the past." _I don't want to be your stupid friend; I hate you!_ Reek and Brandon Stark found themselves in complete agreement on that point, if little else.

"I don't care what you think I need to do."

"The Reed girl, the one who was captured with you, she didn't think she needed to do what I told her either. She provoked me in much the same way that your idiot of a brother seems to delight in provoking my dog."

"You nearly killed Rickon! How could he have possibly provoked you into doing that if you didn't want to? You even admitted that you were trying to kill him. You and Ramsay are...you are..." _Seven Hells, I forgot about Meera._ "I mean...what about the...umm...what about the Reed girl. You about to tell me what happened to Meera."

"Meera Reed. Is that her name? It matters not at all. When I learned that she had been trained to fight, I told my dog to scalp her with a hunting knife. Show me a woman who would fight alongside her brothers in battle and I will show you a half-wit who thinks herself our equal. However, I am not without mercy. The girl plainly thought herself the equal of her dead brother so I instructed my father's bastard to do precisely what he would've done to her brother had the boy spat in his face. She plainly wanted to be equal, so I made her equal."

"You...you what?"

"In truth, it was a kindness. I could've instructed my father's bastard to train her. In truth, a good, long rape might've done the girl some good. No, no, raping one's prisoners is quite rude, I think. I fear that I never could abide bad manners. It matters not at all. I trust you will agree that I would've been well within my rights to do far worse to a girl who thought herself a fighter than merely having her scalped." _Meera...she...she can't be dead... And he made master do it. Mast...I mean...Ramsay killed Jojen, so Meera was Lord Reed's heir. Reek, do you...do you think Domeric really had Ramsay kill her so that their father would punish him for murdering a valuable hostage? WE HAVE TO WARN MASTER!_

 _Mayhaps...mayhaps Reek is right. How can I trust this madman with Rickon, Arya, and my lives. It's probably safer here with Ramsay. Of course it's safer here; master will never let anyone hurt us. And he'll only do it if we make him besides. No! No! No! No! I'll kill all of the Boltons...somehow. Who knows, mayhaps my dreams will come true someday and I'll burn down the Dreadfort._

"I hate you and someday, I am going to kill you for what you did to Meera, Jojen, and my family."

"Excellent, my Lord! I'm quite pleased to see that you agree that she deserved to die. I feared that you might think my actions were too harsh. You plainly have the right of it; I was far too kind to the Reed girl. I should've kept her alive and simply instructed my dog to make any necessary adjustments using whatever methods he found suitable. I fear my compassion and mercy will be the death of me one of these days."

"That's not what I said!"

"In truth, I already knew that I needn't blame myself, but it is kind of you to say so. That meant a great deal to me, little Lord. It is good to know that you are strong enough to discard your friends without a second thought. Father says a wise man has no friends whom he can't sacrifice on a moment's notice if necessary. I always knew we would be friends; did you know that? Naturally, I'd kill you if father told me to, but you must believe me when I say I hope that day never comes. You and I see the world in much the same way, I think. Tell me, why is it that everyone assumes my House will betray your brother to the lowest bidder. Lord Baelish, Lord Frey, and Lord Lannister all seem to be under the impression that we can be purchased as cheaply as some kitchen wench from a whorehouse. Don't they realize we've received a far better offer...and from a man who would give us a seat at the table rather than mere scrapes? Lord Baelish was the worst of them. He offered to trade "Arya Stark" for my father's loyalty; it would seem that he was smart enough to realize that my father loathes your older brother, but entirely oblivious to the fact that we already have your sister in our possession. Father may entertain the offers of those three Lords, but he will turn on each of them in his own good time, I think."

"I hate you!"

"As you say. I fear I find myself in complete agreement with you yet again."

"Are you just going to ignore everything I say that you don't like?"

"It matters not at all. In truth, I heard all of what you just said. I hope you do kill me one day. It would be a great kindness, I think."

"What?"

"However much you may hate my kin and I, I assure you that I hate all of us far more than you could ever know. Despite what you may believe, I derive no pleasure from what Ramsay has done to you and your brother. I punished Lord Rickon because he plainly told my father's bastard some sort of lie about me. I let my dog scalp your friend because a woman's place is not on a battlefield. However, neither of these things brought me any joy. Father says that a good man does whatever must needs be done and hurts whoever he must without a second thought. That's all I ever did. I was only...only doing what needed to be done. I never wanted to hurt mother, I...you don't think I'm a monster, do you?"

"I...umm...I mean...I don't think anyone is born a monster." Bran wanted nothing more than to tell the madman that he was one of the worst creatures in Westeros, but there was something about the man's voice – a lonely, despondent sadness – that made it impossible.

"Once again, you have the right of it. I was once a soft, happy child given to all kinds of foolishness. I played the harp, lived to ride horses, and prayed for my father's death. I was going to change things at the Dreadfort. There would be no more atrocities committed here when I became a Lord and I was going to make amends to the Umbers, Starks, and every other House my forebearers had wronged over the years. I was weak and I...I...I needed adjustments. Father, he...he fixed me on my thirteenth name day. He fixed me and showed me the way of the world. He...he only did it because he loves me. I'm sure you're father would...would've done the same to you some day. Why else would he do it? I...I just have to make him proud and...it's not his fault...I'm not allowed to be angry at him. I have to remember that a boy...a boy's best friend is his father."

"He fixed you?"

"Yes, my father fixed me, but I fear mother was damaged beyond repair. I told mother that father forgot that it was my name day and she disturbed him in his solar. It was her fault, I think. Mine too. I shouldn't have complained and mother, she...she should have knocked. When my mother opened the door, she saw father skinning a dead child's face. I soon learned that this was how my father used to calm himself before he discovered that regular leechings had an almost identical effect upon him. He would simply have his men find a peasant family, kill the parents, and bring him a young child once a month. My father was a careful man and their were never any stories told about him, but I promise you that it happened. An hour after my mother went to find father, he came to my room and brought me down to the dungeons. Mother was nailed to a large "X" and father - after explaining the situation - handed me a knife. He told me that my...my name day present was that I was about to learn what happened to people who didn't understand the way of the world...people who were too weak to stomach seeing innocents suffer. If my father ever becomes wroth with you for any reason then terrible things will happen to you. That is simply how the world works, I think. I didn't want to kill mother, but he told me that he would flay her every time I protested. He took an eye and four fingers before I killed her. The next morning, he tricked me into eating her flesh when I broke my fast; that was my punishment for crying. You...you have to understand; he only did it out of love. A man shouldn't cry. Father knew he went too far though, that...that's why he now uses leeches."

"He...your father did that."

"Yes."

"But...that monster, he...he has my sister. He'll skin Arya or he'll –"

"Good. I hope he kills that cunt. Father wrote that I am not allowed to physically discipline the little shit if she misbehaves; he said he expects me to find other ways of punishing her. Why would he do that? He would oft beat me when I was a boy. Does he...does he like her better than me? That bitch is trying to steal my father from me!"

"I thought you wanted to escape from...listen, whatever else my sister is or isn't doing, I promise she wants nothing to do with your father. Do you even hear yourself? And your father plainly hates you besides. He tricked you into eating your own mother's flesh. Why don't you just kill –" Domeric bared his teeth and began choking Bran before the boy could finish speaking.

"My father loves me! Apologize for that remark...NOW! Go on, say you're sorry or...or I'll kill you!"

"Can't...breathe...can't –"

"SAY IT!"

"S-s-sorry," Bran wheezed, gasping for air once Domeric released his grip. _I can't trust this maniac with Rickon, Arya, and my lives, but we can't stay here either. We have to find another way to escape...somehow. There has to be another way!_


	24. Arya VII and Catelyn II

**Arya**

 _No. No. No. No. This is...there's blood everywhere,_ Arya realized, biting her lip nervously as she stared at the dark stain that had spread across her britches while she slept the previous night. _I...I can't ask Lord Bolton for new clothes, he might be wroth with me for bothering him and...and... No! I can't do anything that might disappoint him! Never! Lord Bolton, he...he probably wouldn't care...not really. It's just...I can't take any chances until I'm at the Dreadfort is all. But if he sees the sheets, he'll be even angrier at me for hiding something from him. Lord Bolton would never hate me...not really. It doesn't matter! No matter what happens, I can't risk letting him down._ Arya frowned and felt a small pang of guilt for all the trouble she knew she'd already caused her friend.

 _Why did it have to happen today? Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. This should've been the best nameday of my life and instead I've already ruined it. We were going to ride for Riverrun today. I still miss mother and Robb...even if they tried to get rid of me. Maybe they'll change their...no, they'll always hate me. Lord Bolton told me so himself and he's never wrong...not really. I can't panic; it's just...just a little blood is all. I'm 13 and a woman grown; I...I can clean this up. I have to...somehow. Sansa would know what to do..._ Arya tried to wipe the blood off of her sheets by rubbing them on the floor, but it was no use. She frowned and began chewing her lip once she realized the blood on her britches had dried. It was bad enough that Arya's family tried to sell her for a stupid bridge, but now even her own body had betrayed her. _This day can't possibly get any worse!_ *KNOCK* *KNOCK* _Seven Hells! That wasn't a stupid challenge,_ Arya thought to herself bitterly.

"You should be awake by now, I think," said a voice as soft as a whisper. "I would ride for Riverrun as soon as possible. It would not serve for there to be any delays in our departure."

"Just...just one minute, I...umm...I'll...I'll be ready soon!"

"Is something wrong?"

"No, my Lord. I...I'll be ready by the time you get to the courtyard."

"Do I have your word on that? You sound as though something is troubling you."

"My word? No, my Lord. I mean –"

"No?"

"It's just...I...well...umm...it's...it's private," Arya stammered as she furiously tried to get the blood out of her britches by using the dry portion of one of her sheets as a clothe. _The stupid blood is already dry._

"This will not serve, I think. You will open the door now."

"But I...I mean...fine," Arya groaned. _I can't make him ask a second time, else he'll be even more disappointed in me. Lord Bolton hates having to ask a second time. I just have to get to the Dreadfort and then I won't have worry so much all the time. I'll be there soon,_ Arya told herself with a cautious smile, hoping it was true. She slowly opened the door and the Lord of the Dreadfort studied her for a moment, plainly trying to decide how to react.

"You've bled," observed Roose, wincing is disgust.

"Yes, my Lord," Arya replied sheepishly.

"Is this your first time?"

"It is, but I'm really sorry; I wasn't trying to waste your time. Please, I –"

"Why are you apologizing to me?"

"You're not angry at me?"

"No, not in the least. Have you done something wrong?"

"No...I mean...no, my Lord. At least...I don't think so, it's just –"

"The stench is revolting, but given your age, I fear it was only a matter of time before this happened. When I am wroth with you, you'll know, I think. My condolences."

"What do you mean?"

"Now that you have bled, I fear you'll be forced to wed some Lord's son sooner rather than later."

"But I'm going to live at the Dreadfort now; Robb and my mother won't have to force me to marry someone else in order to get rid of me."

"As you say. It matters not at all, I think. I will instruct Qyburn to have you cleaned and provided with new clothes." There was a time when Arya would have been too frightened of Qyburn to comply with her friend's instructions, but now she knew better. _There's nothing to be afraid of...not really,_ the lone wolf decided, breathing a sigh of relief. _Lord Bolton wouldn't send me to Qyburn if it weren't safe. He'd never let anything bad happen to me, even if I did let him down._

 _Don't worry father, everything is going to be alright now,_ Arya thought to herself as she raced toward the rookery, praying that she didn't encounter any of the Bloody Mummers until after she'd been cleaned by Qyburn. _All of the Lannisters are dead except the Kingslayer, Tywin, and Tommen. Robb will kill the rest of them though, every one. Lord Bolton will take care of me and I'll still have a home when I'm at the Dreadfort. It's just...I'll be with people who care about me is all. Lord Bolton and his sons will treat me like I'm a part of there family and they'll look after me. The Boltons are like a second family and Lord Bolton, he said that I'm like a daughter to him. He even lets me hug him because he knows it makes me feel better,_ Arya recalled, allowing herself a small smile as she approached the steps leading to the rookery.

 _Lord Bolton doesn't treat me differently just because I'm girl though – well...I'm a woman grown now, not a girl – and he said that no one in his family would care if I didn't want to be a stupid Lady when I grew up besides. See father, I really could be a Lord someday...maybe. Even though I'm going to live at the Dreadfort from now on, I'll always be a Stark and not a Bolton. Never! I promise that I'll always remember who I am. I am a direwolf and I won't let Robb, mother, or anyone else steal that from me. I still love mother and Robb; it's just...they don't love me anymore is all. I'd stay at Winterfell if they did though, I really would! They tried to sell me to the Freys for some stupid old bridge that they could've crossed for nothing. That's how badly they wanted to get rid of me._

 _Do you see Bran, Rickon, and Jon now that they're dead too? I bet none of you would have ever tried to trade me for a stupid bridge_. _You don't need to worry about Sansa either. Robert's brother is keeping her as a hostage, but Robb will save her, I know he will! He still cares about her...everyone does. At least mother used to love me at least a little bit, even if Sansa was always her favorite. No one except Jon and Lord Bolton ever liked me better than Sansa. Maybe Rickon did too...maybe. He's dead; Jon could still be alive though. I could visit the Wall and see if...no! Lord Bolton said that if Jon's alive, I should never try to visit or write to him — not even if he sends a raven asking about me — because I'd only be making it harder for him. If I were alone at some stupid old Wall, I'd want Jon to visit me. I don't under...it doesn't matter what I'd want...not really. Jon's dead, most like, but if he's alive and Lord Bolton thinks it would be cruel to send him a raven when we get to Riverrun then I won't do it. Lord Bolton said that if Jon's alive and I really loved him, then I'd do everything I could to make it easier for him to forget about everyone he had to leave behind when he joined the stupid Night's Watch._

 _I still have Lord Bolton though, father. He won't run away to some stupid old wall and if the Greyjoys ever tried to attack the Dreadfort, he'd kill them, every one._ Arya knew her father probably couldn't hear her – the weirwoods were outside of the fortress – but that didn't matter...not really; it still made her feel better to pretend he was looking down from above and watching over his youngest daughter. Less than an hour later, the lone wolf, Lord Bolton, and most of his men departed from Harrenhal. Arya smiled and took one last look back at the fortress, secure in the knowledge that her worst days were finally behind her.

...

 **Catelyn**

Catelyn nervously paced about Riverrun's great hall as she awaited her youngest daughter's return. By the time the Lord of the Dreadfort entered the room – flanked by a Frey on each side – she was almost out of breath. _There had been a raven saying that Arya was still alive and in Lord Bolton's care, but that could mean anything. Lord Bolton's care...what a terrible thought. The sooner Arya is away from that man, the better. Ned never trusted him; he oft told me that he doubted whether we'd ever come back alive if our family accepted one of that man's invitations to feast at the Dreadfort. In truth, I wouldn't put it past Lord Bolton to find some poor, young Northern girl and try to pass her off as Arya. I suppose his House's reputation helps Robb's cause, but the man can't leave Riverrun too soon as far as I'm concerned._ The Lord of the Dreadfort glanced at her and for just a moment, she could've sworn she felt his pale, blue eyes peering deep into her soul. _Does he know what I was thinking? No, of course he doesn't, that...that's impossible._ Catelyn shuddered.

"Your Grace, I offer you two gifts of great value," said a voice as deep as the ocean and as soft as a whisper. "While at Harrenhal, I re-captured the Kingslayer. In truth, my men did get a little out-of-hand when they found him, but they didn't hurt him...much." The other Lords in the room began whispering amongst themselves excitedly.

"Was there a woman with him when you found him," asked Catelyn.

"Yes, a very strange one. The fool claimed that you ordered her to return the Kingslayer to King's Landing. Of course, no one believed the madwoman. After all, why would you ever give such command?"

"Yes, Cat, why would you ever give such a command? I'm sure Lord Bolton would love to hear all about it," growled Edmure. _Seven Hells! Can't you think about anything other than your bloody pride for two seconds?_

"If you had even one child of your own, mayhaps –"

"Forgive me, my Lady, you didn't free –"

"She most certainly did. Cat betrayed her son and humiliated me in my own castle. Did you ever stop to consider how your actions might effect me," snapped Edmure.

"YOU?"

"Yes, me. Are there any other Lords of Riverrun that I should know about?"

"You are no Lord; you're just a boy playing at ruling a castle. If you were half the man that father was –"

"Enough! I expect better from both of you; Edmure, you will let my mother ask her question," snapped Robb.

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Lord Bolton, this woman, she...she was a dear friend of mine. What became of her?"

"I fear one of the Brave Companions fed her to his bear. Naturally, I took no pleasure in it, but one must choose his battles where such men are concerned," replied Lord Bolton as his lips curled into a cruel smile.

"And Arya," asked Robb before Catelyn could respond. "Your raven said that you had found my sister; where is she?" The Lord of the Dreadfort turned and muttered something unintelligible to someone behind him. A little girl in britches with sad, grey eyes and brown hair as tangled as any Catelyn had ever seen cautiously creeped out from behind Lord Bolton and entered the room. Robb said something, but in that moment, he didn't matter. Neither did Edmure, Lord Bolton, or anyone else save for the little girl who had begun trembling as she looked her mother directly in the eye. There could no longer be any doubt. _She's alive! It...it's really her..._

"Mother?"

"Arya? Is it really...but how –" Before Catelyn Stark could manage a coherent sentence, her youngest daughter had already bolted across the hall, leapt into the air, and wrapped herself around her mother like a straight-jacket. The two Starks hugged each other fiercely and wept. After what felt like an eternity, Catelyn looked down at her daughter and saw a strange look upon the girl's face. Where there had once been love and joy, there was now only fear. "Arya? What's wrong?"

"Nothing...I just...I..." _Nonsense. I've never seen you look at anyone that way before, much less your own mother. There are some things that a mother always knows._

"Did someone hurt you? Please, tell me what's wrong. You're safe now; I promise!"

"I...I'm sorry I can't sing or sew like Sansa can; please don't hate me," Arya sobbed. "I didn't want my hair to be all tangled in knots either, I swear! I just...I...I didn't mean to have a stupid...a stupid horse face."

"Look like what? Have you gone...I could never hate you. How...how could you even say a thing like that? Mayhaps Sansa was a bit easier at times, but I doubt any other mother has ever had a daughter quite like you. I love you because of who you are and would never try to change you."

"That's not true; you always loved Sansa more! You just...got stuck with me is all." Catelyn felt a part of her soul die the moment those words came out of her daughter's mouth and would've gladly given almost anything to unhear them. Catelyn released her daughter, but this only made the sad, frightened child cling to her even more tightly.

"You know how much I love you, don't you? Arya?"

"I...I mean...I..."

"Please, tell me what's wrong. What could possibly make you believe this madness? Whatever it is, I know it's not your fault; I promise that I'm not mad at you! Did Littlefinger tell you some sort of lie when you were in King's Landing? I know that you know deep down how much I love you. Do you know how much I worried about you every single day?"

"More time than you spent worrying about me," grumbled Edmure.

"It's okay, you don't have to lie anymore. I...I know that you...that you don't...don't really...never wanted –" By now some of the Lords had begun murmuring amongst themselves and even the servants quietly stopped their work so they could watch the sad spectacle.

"Listen to...listen to me very carefully, Arya. I don't know what's gotten into to you, but I swear by the Old Gods and the New that I will always love you. Do you hear me?"

"Then why were you going to marry me to Elmar Frey before he died? He...he used to threaten to have me whipped when we were at Harrenhal."

"HE WHAT?"

"I always knew Elmar was a good lad. Nothing to teach a woman her place like a good whipping," chuckled Ser Hosteen. Lord Bolton glared at the knight and the man seemed to shrivel up like a dried vegetable.

"Is this all you have to say to your mother," snapped Robb. _It's not her fault; don't you see that she obviously heard some sort of horrible lie! If you talk to her that way, we may never find out what she's talking about._ The worst part was that Catelyn couldn't even defend her son. In truth, it was unfair that he got to break his betrothal because he loved another woman while Arya would be given to that pack of chinless weasels within a fortnight. _Is this how mother felt when father sold Lysa to Jon Arryn? The poor girl was near as frightened as Arya; mayhaps that's why she... No! Whatever happened to Lysa had nothing to do with her marriage to Jon. Women have had their husbands chosen for them in Westeros for centuries and most of them survive with their wits intact...even if most men aren't half so gentle as Ned was with me. Such is a woman's duty,_ Catelyn thought to herself sadly. _But how did Arya find out she'd been betrothed to Elmar?_

"You don't have to trade me for a bridge in order to get rid of me."

"Arya, I've had quite enough of this madness! What makes you think your mother and I would ever want to get rid of you?"

"If you...if you had to pick whether to save Sansa's life or mine –"

"Your mother humiliated her brother and dragged our family's name through the mud by freeing the Kingslayer. Do you know why she did that? She did it because she thought it might be the only way to save you and your sister."

"She did it to save Sansa!"

"You...you really mean that, don't you," Catelyn whispered as she searched every corner of her mind for some hint about where she had gone wrong as a mother. _What could I have possibly done to make you think such a thing of me? Was I truly so terrible a mother?_ "I...I can...tell me what I ever did to make you think...you never said anything like this before you left. What happened to you?"

"Please, I don't want to be a Frey!"

"Arya, tell me what I can do to show you how much I love you. Whatever you're afraid of, I promise that I'll protect you. I'll never let anyone hurt you, do you hear me? Anything, just tell me what to do and I'll –"

"Don't sell me to the Freys, mother! I...I'll be good from now on; you'll see! I'll even try to be a proper Lady, just like Sansa or...I...I'll leave Winterfell and never come back; I swear! You don't have to send me to rot at the Twins; I...I can go to the Dreadfort. Lord Bolton will let me live there; I know he will!"

"The Dreadfort," gasped Catelyn, turning near as pale as a ghost. _Lord Bolton was the one who found her, could he have truly...but what could he have ever done to make her behave like this. And what would it gain him? Unless... Seven Hells! Robb's will...I warned him not to disinherit Sansa, but did he listen? Of course not. If something happened to Robb, the other Lords won't recognize a bastard, but that would make Arya next in the line of succession. Could that beast be mad enough to believe...no, that can't be it. Lord Bolton is too old,_ Catelyn remembered, breathing a sigh of relief. _That blue-eyed monster had something to do with this though; I'd stake my life on it! Robb might not believe me though and Lord Bolton is a very dangerous man. I can't say anything without some sort of proof unless... Arya, she...if I could just get her to say what she heard or who she heard it from...until then, I won't let that man out of my sight. At least not when he's around either of my children. Why does he keep...stop looking at me like that!_ Catelyn shuttered as the Lord of the Dreadfort continued to eye her the way a lizard lion might watch a horse slowly approaching a riverbank. _He knows I know,_ she realized. _How could he...is my face truly such an open book? I suppose it doesn't matter. He knows that I know what? What is it that he thinks I know?_

"Wasn't the girl already betrothed to Waltyr Frey," asked Edmure.

"What? No! But I...you can't...I don't want...I...I mean...please, mother. If you really love me, don't let Robb make me a Frey," Arya wailed. Ser Aenys Frey had the nerve to laugh at the terrified little girl. Catelyn looked from her daughter to her son and back again. The eldest of Hoster Tully's children began shaking and bitter tears poured down her cheeks as she whispered three words in a voice that seemed to tremble near as much as her hands.

"Robb...please don't –"

"What would you have me do, mother," snapped Robb. "I already broke my word to the man once. You'd have me break my word to Lord Walder a second time, is that the way of it? He is a proud man, most like, and we've already dishonored his House once. I'll not do it again. I like this no more than you, but we don't all have the luxury of putting our emotions ahead of what's best for the North."

"Don't let Robb send me to the Twins, mother! You won't let him, will you? You promised you'd protect me and always keep me safe, remember. Mother? Say something!"

"I...I'm sorry, Arya, I wish...there's nothing I...I can't..."

"But...but Black Walder, he rapes his good-sisters and –"

"Only the ones that have already bled," sniggered Ser Aenys. "With a little luck, you may not be his type for another year."

"Until...but I've already...NOOOOOO!"

"Your name suits you, Ser Aenys," muttered Lord Bolton

"It would seem the girl has bled recently. In light of this, Your Grace, I can tell you right now that the wedding must needs occur at the same time as that of your uncle. I fear Lord Walder has grown weary of long engagements," the chinless knight added, ignoring the Leech Lord.

"Fine," seethed Robb.

"But I don't want –"

"It was only a jape, Your Grace," said Ser Aenys sheepishly.

"Out, all of you! As for you, Ser Aneys, if I even so much as think you've spoken another word to my sister, I swear by the Old Gods and the New that you'll rue the day you were born," snapped Robb.

"Can...can Lord Bolton stay," Arya sniffled. _Lord Bolton again; I knew it! What could he have done? Is she afraid of him? If he hurt...no, Arya plainly means what she's saying._

"What? No, why –"

"Arya, this is no way to behave around your kin. You should walk right up to your mother and apologize to her for crying, I think," said Lord Bolton with a cruel smile.

"Do you think she'll calm down just because you told her to," blurted Catelyn.

"But you said to...I mean...yes, my Lord," Arya quietly replied, wiping away her tears with her left sleeve as her family exchanged confused glances. "Robb, mother, uncle Edmure, I'm s-s-sorry for crying in front...in front of you. Lord Bolton s-said that it would not serve for...for me to cry in public."

"There's nothing wrong with crying in front of your mother, Arya."

"But Lord Bolton says that crying makes people weak, I think." _Seven Hells! She's even starting to talk like him._

"What else did Lord Bolton say to you," asked Catelyn, studying her daughter.

"I wouldn't pay her any mind, mother. Arya's probably just overwhelmed or mayhaps she has recently bled. You must admit, that would explain a great deal and she is at the right age for it. I'm sure she'll be better tomorrow."

"Please don't be angry with Lord Bolton, mother. He didn't do anything, he just...he just saved me is all. Ser Robbet or Lord Vargo, they...one of them would've probably killed me by now if he hadn't found me. Lord Bolton, he...he's my only friend." _What did he do to you? Ned always said to keep the children away from the man when he came to Winterfell, but this... Could anyone be so cruel?_

"Lord Bolton has friends," Robb blurted in surprise, plainly more shocked by this discovery than he was by anything else that had transpired.

"He has me!" It took every ounce of Catelyn's self-control not to throw up when she heard that...instead, she merely wept tears as cold and bitter as the harshest winter snows. _I won't let him steal my daughter from me! Whatever he's doing, he's planning to hurt her somehow or wants something from her. I know he does! I just have figure out what it is... I won't let him or anyone else hurt her, I...Seven Hells!_

"Robb, where did Arya go?"

"You didn't see her? She raced out behind Lord Bolton after he left the room."

"It's so strange..."

"I don't understand it either, mother; the whole thing is bizarre."

"You...you noticed it too?"

"Of course I did; how could a man like Lord Bolton be so good at making children do as they're bid? I'd have assumed he hated them. And even if he doesn't, who would've guessed Arya would be some deferential to him."

"Never mind," muttered Catelyn, storming out of the room in search of her youngest daughter.

...

Catelyn Stark raced to Arya's chambers only to find the Lord of the Dreadfort waiting nearby...looking directly at her. This time there was no mistaking the look on his face nor his intent. In that moment, Lord Bolton was a man hunting his prey, no different than a Wildling or any other beast. It was too much and despite her best efforts, Catelyn's anger came roaring out.

"For your sake, I'd best not see you around my daughter. If you hurt her, I swear on my honor as a –"

"I trust you have some sort of evidence to support whatever wild accusations you are plainly about to make?"

"Robb will believe me; one word to my son and –"

"And he'll execute the Lord who re-captured the Kingslayer and returned his younger daughter? I think not. Even if he shared your...concerns, I fear he would not act without proof. While we are on the subject of trust, tell me, how was it that the Kingslayer escaped? I fear that I've already forgotten."

"Why are you doing this?" The Lord of the Dreadfort didn't speak, smile, or scowl, instead he merely shrugged.

"Then you admit it!"

"I can't imagine what it is that you are asking me to confess, my Lady. I doubt you can either, for that matter. Of course, if I were as dangerous as you seem to think I am, a wise man might consider it prudent to tread carefully."

"How dare you threaten me!"

"I did no such thing, my Lady."

"What did you do to Arya? Please, I'm her mother, I...I have a right to know that much."

"I fear that I have no idea what you're talking about, my Lady. I sincerely wish that I could be of greater service to you, but I fear your imagination has simply gotten the better of you in this instance. I didn't do anything to your daughter except return her to you. When I found the girl, she was a prisoner in Harrenhal and was at the mercy of a group of savages who called themselves the Brave Companions. Most called them the Bloody Mummers and their leader would've raped her had I not intervened. Some might even say that I kept your daughter safe while she was at Harrenhal. I seem to recall her begging you to protect her from the Freys. You didn't do it, I think. Another man might even go so far as to say that I've done a far better job protecting Arya than you ever did, but naturally I'd never suggest anything of the sort."

"Naturally," seethed Catelyn, regaining her composure. Suddenly the door opened and Arya emerged from her chambers with slightly less tangled hair.

"Why are you fighting? Did I do something wrong?"

"Your mother wishes that I never speak to you again, I think. I fear I have no choice other than to do as she has requested. She is your mother and I must needs respect her wishes."

"WHAT? No! Lord Bolton's my only friend; I'd be dead by now without him or...or one of the Bloody Mummers would've...would... Please, mother, you asked what you could do to prove...someone who really loved me wouldn't force my best friend to abandon me." Catelyn looked deep into the lonely little girl's sad, grey eyes and let out a sigh of defeat as it dawned upon her that the Lord of the Dreadfort had likely planned this before either of them left the great hall. _This is all some sort of sick game to that monster and he won this round before I even knew we were playing._

"Fine, but if you lay a hand on my daughter, I'll –"

"Thank you," yelled Arya, plainly too excited to notice anything except the first word of her mother's comment. Lord Bolton's lips twisted into a cruel smile as Catelyn realized what it felt like to hate someone so much that for a brief moment, she truly wanted to kill them with her bare hands.

Suddenly, the Lord of the Dreadfort did something that made her far angrier than anything else that had happened earlier in this wretched day. It was something that made Catelyn feel as though someone had cut out her heart and buried it six feet underground. There were only two people that Arya had ever let muss her hair. The first was Jon Snow, but they were always inseparable. The second was her father and every time that Catelyn saw Arya smile as Ned mussed her hair, it was a reminder of the special bond that the two shared. When she saw Lord Bolton do it, it reminded her of everything that her family had lost since Ned left Winterfell, but the worst part was that when Lord Bolton mussed Arya's hair, she smiled. It was as though he'd replaced the memory of the girl's father. _I swear to you Lord Bolton, on my honor as a Tully...on my honor as a Stark, you will rue this day. I'll turn my heart to stone if that's what it takes to save my daughter from you!_

"We'd best give your mother some time to herself, Arya," said the Lord of the Dreadfort mildly. "I fear she has had a very difficult day. I imagine that Lady Catelyn has quite a bit to think about at the moment. Come."

"Yes, my Lord." _Come? How dare you tell my daughter to come! Arya's a human being, not your bloody pet._ Without another word, Lord Bolton turned around and walked away; Arya scurried along behind him in much the same way that she used to follow Jon around Winterfell. _I used to believe there was no one worse than that boy whom she could look up to,_ Catelyn thought to herself bitterly.


	25. Arya VIII

**Arya**

"Good morning, mother."

"Oh. Good morning, Arya. Did you sleep well," asked Catelyn as her daughter strolled into Riverrun's great hall, sat down to her mother's right, and frowned. _Of course they all started breaking their fast without me. There's not even any stupid food on my plate. I have to remember what Lord Bolton said yesterday. I can't believe I have to say this; it's so stupid. It sounds like something Sansa would say, but if he thinks it will help... I know he'd never try to change me like mother and Robb, but it's still...I can't believe I'm about to say this._

"I slept very well and I'm terribly sorry for my behavior yesterday. I shouldn't treat you that way in public, I think." _Even if everything I said was true, you're not as bad as Robb...not really. At least you tried... Maybe mother still loves me a little bit after all...maybe._ "I asked Lord Bolton to help me work on improving my manners. It was my stupid idea," grumbled Arya. Robb nearly choked on a piece of blood sausage and Catelyn began quietly grinding her teeth.

"I don't know what's gotten into you, but it's certainly an improvement," replied Robb once he finally managed to catch his breath. "I told you she'd be better in the morning, mother. It is known that women are slaves to their emotions whenever they've recently bled. Now that the bad blood is out of her...what? Why are the two of you looking at me like that? Is it something I said?" _Yes, everything you say is horrible or embarrassing. Please stop talking_.

"Robb, this has nothing to do with –"

"And what would you know of it, Cat," snapped Edmure. "Shouldn't you be off dishonoring our family name." _Robb shouldn't let him keep talking to our mother that way!_

"Not now, Edmure."

"That's Lord Edmure to you; I'll have you know that your son has named me Master of Ships."

"Uncle Edmure, as your King, I order you stop bringing up that business with the Kingslayer. It appears you can hold a grudge near as well as my sister. I didn't know men bled too." _Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP,_ Arya silently screamed to herself as she buried her head in her hands.

"It has nothing to do with that, stupid; I'm just angry at you is all."

"Whatever you say, little sister. Tell me, how is it that Lord Bolton has managed to get you to give him the respect and obedience the rest of us are due."

"What do you mean?"

"Yesterday, you calmed down and apologized to your mother the moment...wait a minute. Arya, did Lord Bolton tell you to apologize to us this morning?"

"I...umm...he...no," Arya weakly replied.

"Seven Hells! You never listened to anyone else half this well. Mayhaps Lord Bolton can succeed where Septa Mordane failed and make a proper Lady out of you before your wedding," sighed Robb.

"Lord Bolton wouldn't do that; he's my friend! He'd never try to change me the way to you and...mother, why are you crying?"

"Robb, aren't you the least bit concerned about the hold Lord Bolton has on your heir?"

"What are you talking about, mother? Jon is my heir, not Arya."

"If anything happens to you before you get your wife with child, she would be your heir. Jon joined the Night's Watch which means he cannot hold any lands or titles for the rest of his life. If you die in battle, the poor girl will be Queen of the whole bloody North."

"What? But I don't want to be a stupid Lady, that...that's supposed to be Sansa and...and...a Queen? But I don't want...I...I'm not...I...Robb, please don't die," Arya begged. _No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. If...if anything happens to Robb...if...Lord Bolton, he...he'll know what to do. But I...I mean...I...I don't want to be a stupid Queen! First a Lady, then a stupid Princess, and now this. Why can't I just be a Lord when I grow up? Robb's Small Council like Lord Bolton does?_

"Your brother disinherited Sansa to keep Winterfell out of House Florent's hands. Now it will go to the Freys."

"Seven Hells! I never would have done it if I thought she was still alive, mother."

"Wait...you just assumed I was dead?"

"How was I supposed to know you were alive, Arya?"

"You don't...you don't just give up on your family like that!"

"I need you to tell us what Lord Bolton told you to do," Robb replied, ignoring his sister. "Has he ever –"

"Are you even listening to me?"

"We don't have time for this, Arya."

"Lord Bolton just said that I should try to be extra nice to mother today because she had a hard day yesterday. That's all, really!" Catelyn frowned. "I know you don't like him, mother, but he was just...worried about you is all. I know he seems really grumpy most of the time, but you'd like him too if you just give him a chance. I know you would! He's not so bad...not really. Lord Bolton was...it's almost like having father back. He even let me hug him when I was scared after Lord Vargo attacked...mother? Mother? Mother, are you okay? Your fingernails are digging into the table. MOTHER!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Where...what were you saying?"

"It is not unheard of for children her age to fancy older men they see as protectors or as...well...Lord Bolton isn't what one would call gallant, but could that be it," asked Edmure.

"GROSS! What the Seven Hells is wrong with you," all three Starks snapped in unison.

"Calm down. It was merely a jape," replied the Lord of Riverrun with a smirk not unlike the one that Arya had oft seen on Theon Turncloak's face. _I hate him! Him and his stupid ships!_

"Lord Bolton let you hug him because you were scared," asked Robb, plainly struggling to decide whether he should laugh or panic like his mother. In the end, he chose to laugh. "I suppose it is a bit strange, but this business with Lord Bolton seems harmless enough. At least you treat someone in this castle with respect. So what about me? The past few days certainly haven't been easy for me either. How come he didn't tell you to be extra nice to me?"

"What about you? You and mother sold me for a stupid bridge...twice. Your own sister! At least mother changed her mind about it; she still loves me even if she lied about being able to always keep me safe. She couldn't protect me from the Freys though...or from you, I think. And you won't even let me live at the stupid Dreadfort besides."

"You just bled again, didn't you? Seven Hells, Arya; at least go change your britches."

"I did not!"

"Do I need to make Lord Bolton have a talk with you about your behavior?"

"What? You can't! Please, don't tell him! I...I'll be good, I promise! Please, I –"

"You should have thought about that before you spoke to me in that tone. However, you may feel, I am still your King. I don't know why you care so much what Roose Bolton thinks of you, but –"

"He hates it when people call him that! He thinks Roose is a stupid name that his father gave him as some sort of jape. You should call him Lord Bolton, I think."

"Whatever his name is, he's going to hear about this and any other outbursts you have about your wedding. Gods be good, Arya, you've even started talking like the man. In any case, sometimes we all need to put other people's needs ahead of our own. That's part of what it means to be a grown up. If you want to be treated like an adult then you must needs act like one."

"Like you did when you married Jeyne Westerling," muttered Catelyn.

"Not you too, mother," Robb sighed. "Arya, I understand that you are upset about having to marry a Frey and I have been very patient, but you need to get over it. What's done is done. You can't expect me to break my word to a House whose support we need simply because you don't want to marry a Frey. I don't have time for anymore of this nonsense; you need to grow up and make the best of it." _MAKE THE BEST OF IT?_ At that moment something snapped deep within the sad, frightened little girl and all of her anger came racing toward her brother with the force of a hurricane.

"If you send me to the Twins then Walder Rivers will beat me and Black Walder will rape me just like Lord Vargo almost did. Ryman Frey will rape me too whenever he's sober enough to catch me, most like. You would let the Freys beat and rape your own sister; what kind of brother are you?"

"Awfully well-informed about the allegations against Lord Walder's kin, aren't we," murmured Catelyn.

"I'm still a Stark, Robb...and I always will be whether you like it or not. Why can't I just live at the Dreadfort instead of the Twins? At least Lord Bolton protects his friends."

"Are you finished yet," Robb groaned. "Good. Now go change your bloody britches."

"I HATE YOU! I wish Joffrey took your stupid head instead of father's and I...I mean...I just...I'm s-s-s-sorry. I didn't...didn't mean that...not really. I just...I didn't mean –" _Robb's going to hate me more than ever now._ Arya lowered her sad, grey eyes in shame.

"Yes, you did," gasped Catelyn.

"Lord Edmure, ask the Maester how long it usually takes for girls my sister's age to stop bleeding. This is getting out of hand."

"Yes, Your Grace," replied Edmure, plainly wanting nothing so much as to escape from the room.

"I didn't mean it...I didn't...I...I just...please don't hate me, mother!"

"What about me? I'm the one you insulted, not our mother. Seven Hells, Arya, you just said you wished I was dead," snapped Robb.

"I...I just...I mean..." _Lord Bolton, he'll know how to make my mother love me again. He has to! I...I just have to find him and I can fix this...somehow. No! Lord Bolton might be wroth with me for wasting his time. I can't disappoint him ever again! Never!_ Arya looked anxiously from her mother to her brother and back again before doing the only thing she could do: she ran out of the room, locked herself in Lord Edmure's solar, and put a chair against the door.

...

*KNOCK* *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"GO AWAY," shouted Arya.

"Arya, please stop this madness; you can't hide in your Uncle's solar forever."

"I'm sorry for what I said, mother. I really am! I just...please don't hate me!"

"There is nothing that you could ever...I don't hate you, Arya; haven't you realized that by now."

"You...you don't?"

"No. I just...I worry about you. How about if you stay in there, I come in too, and we just talk about how you're feeling until you're ready to come out," asked Catelyn. _She's trying so hard, she has to care a little bit. And it's Robb who wants to force me to marry a Frey, not her. Even Lord Bolton can be wrong sometimes... I...I have to tell her; it's the only way to know for sure. Maybe she really does love me...maybe._ Arya moved the chair and opened the door just long enough for her mother to enter the room before slamming it shut again.

"I really am sorry," whispered the lone wolf, hugging her mother fiercely. "You'd still love me, wouldn't you...even if I did something bad?"

"I might be disappointed in you, but yes, I will always love you."

"I...I killed someone mother."

"YOU WHAT?"

"Lord Vargo...he was going to rape me and Lord Bolton, he tried to protect me from...from...from the Bloody Mummers, but...but Lord Vargo, he broke d-d-down the door and...and the b-blood...I...I had to s-s-stab him. The blood...it was...there was b-blood everywhere...and...and...and Lord Bolt...Lord Bolton s-s-said he wouldn't t-tell any...anyone because I knew...I knew you and R-Robb would hate me if...if you knew and...and you wouldn't even let me...let me be a S-Stark anymore," Arya sobbed as the repressed memories of that night came flooding back all at once. "I didn't mean to k-kill him, I just...wanted to hurt him was all. He was g-going to make me...make me no one and...and I...and I...I didn't mean it...I just, please don't –"

"Shhh...it's okay. You're safe now and that's all that matters," Catelyn whispered, hugging her daughter so tightly that Arya felt as though she were being smothered to death.

"Can't...can't breathe..."

"Arya, I know that you didn't want to hurt anyone and never would have unless this so-called Lord left you with no other choice. It's okay, I'm not angry at you," Catelyn replied, loosening her grip.

"Why not? You shouldn't...I mean...no one should want me after what I did to Lord Vargo. Lord Bolton still cares about me though. He even tried to cheer me up after he saw what I did, but he shouldn't have, I think. I was afraid...afraid that everyone would hate me so...so he tried to convince me that it wasn't my fault. Lord Bolton said that he doesn't even let his own children hug him and –"

"I'm sure he doesn't..."

"You don't understand, mother. Lord Bolton knew that I was suffering, so he did everything that he could to help. He even said that if I ever had no where else to go, I would always be welcome at the Dreadfort. I can't disappoint him, else he might change his mind."

"Is that why you do whatever he says and follow him around all the time?" Arya nodded. _She won't hate Lord Bolton anymore now that she understands. If...if mother still doesn't hate me after what I did to Lord Vargo then she must really love me after all. Maybe I don't even have to go to the Dreadfort if she can convince Robb not to sell me to the Freys...maybe. I could still live at Winterfell and I'd still see uncle Bolt...I mean...Lord Bolton whenever he comes to visit. Uncle Bolton? Seven Hells; I'm losing my mind,_ Arya thought to herself with a sad smile.

"I...I don't deserve someone who cares about me that much, mother. I don't deserve you or Lord Bolton...not really. I wish you had a better daughter, one who could be a proper Lady like Sansa; you don't deserve to be stuck with me."

"Listen to me very carefully, no mother has ever been more fortunate than I was when you and each of your siblings were born. My memories the five of you were the only thing that kept me alive when I learned what the Lannisters had done to your father. I still thank the Seven every day for blessing me with each and every one of you. As for Lord Bolton, someone who truly cares for you would never turn their back on you just because you –"

"Robb's forcing me to become a stupid Frey instead of letting me live at Winterfell," Arya snapped. "He turned his back on me when I needed him. Does that mean he never cared about me?"

"Arya..."

"He hates me and you know it!"

"Robb doesn't hate you, don't be ridiculous. Gods be good, Arya, he's your brother."

"Then why is he going to let Black Walder rape –"

"The Freys wouldn't dare lay a hand on you; your brother is their King. And for that matter, how do you even know who Black Walder is? Did Lord Bolton say –"

"No, he didn't say anything about the Freys. He really didn't, I swear," Arya lied.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Why do you hate him so much anyway? All he ever did was protect me and get me safely to Riverrun. Whatever you think he did, you're wrong."

"His family flays people!"

"Lord Bolton says they don't do that anymore. Who cares what his House did 200 years ago?"

"Even if they don't, he's just using you to undermine our House." _That's stupid! Why would Lord Bolton ever want to hurt us? Robb's his King; he's loyal to the Starks. And he's my friend besides._

"What are you talking about? I didn't trust him at first either...not really, but he's not so bad. He'd never do anything to hurt me, I know he wouldn't!"

"You always had a gift for seeing who people truly were, even as a little girl. How can you not...you are Robb's heir. Don't you realize what that means?"

"Lord Bolton is my friend, so stop trying to say he isn't!" _Lord Bolton was the only one who didn't abandon me and I won't let anyone talk about him that way,_ Arya decided, backing away from her mother. _Never!_

"He's just trying to get inside your head in case anything happens to your brother, why can't anyone else see that," Catelyn fumed. "Arya, you are only a child and –"

"I'm 13 and woman grown."

"And if Robb dies in battle there will be no shortage of Lords trying to manipulate you and your husband. Lord Bolton is no different."

"I don't want to marry some stupid Frey. Why can't I be a Lord or...or just live at Winterfell."

"How could such a brave child truly wish to spend the rest of her life at her parents' castle? What kind...what sort of...adventure would that be," asked Catelyn.

"I guess you're right; it would get boring after a few years, most like. But why can't I live at the Dreadfort? It didn't sound like a boring place when Lord Bolton told me about it. I'd be safe there, I really would!" _Everyone's scared of the Boltons, but they'd never hurt someone who didn't deserve it...not really. I am not afraid,_ Arya decided. _Maybe my pack and I can attack the Twins in one of my wolf dreams tonight...maybe. They're only dreams so no one would get hurt...not really. I hope the Freys get eaten by wolves! It'd hurt a lot more than if they only lost their stupid heads, but it would be justice as long as none of the women or children got eaten. And Lord Bolton said that we shouldn't feel badly about justice being done, no matter how harsh it seems._

"NO! You will never go anywhere that wretched place, do you hear me? Lord Bolton would burn our House to the ground if given half...come back! ARYA," shouted Catelyn as them lone wolf raced out of the room as fast as her legs would carry her. _It's not true! Mother's just...scared is all. Lord Bolton, he can explain it to mother better than I can or...why can't they just get along?_

...

Arya could hear Ser Aenys shouting before she could even see the guest chamber in which Lord Bolton resided. Less than a minute after she finally reached the room, the door swung open and Ser Aenys stormed out of the room. The chinless weasel slammed the door behind him and looked down, scowling at Arya when she looked him directly in the eye. _Lord Bolton said whoever looks away first is usually afraid. I am a direwolf and I am not afraid!_

"Your pet rat wants you, Lord Leech," the knight shouted, breaking eye contact for a few seconds.

"Hey! I'm not a rat, stupid!" Suddenly, the door swung open again a second time...this time hitting Ser Aney so hard that the stupid weasel fell to the ground and hit his head on the stone floor. The man groaned, but was barely moving. Arya hopped over him and scurried into her friend's chambers, quietly shutting the door behind her. She nearly walked right into the Lord of the Dreadfort.

"Lord Bolton."

"Yes? Something is troubling you, I think." Arya nodded and bit her lip.

"It's my mother, she...she thinks you're using me because I'm Robb's stupid heir or something. It didn't make any sense, but she hates you for some reason."

"And do you believe her?"

"No! I only thought...maybe if you explained to her how you helped me at Harrenhal then she might be nicer to you...maybe. I tried to tell her that you were my friend and that you saved me, but she wasn't listening...not really."

"I was wrong about your mother, think."

"I know; she still cares about me! I wish she'd stop saying that you're trying to use me to hurt my family though. It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard; why does she even think you'd ever do something like that?"

"You must not repeat what I am about to say to anyone, do you understand?"

"I won't, I swear!"

"I fear your mother has let her imagination get the better of her. In truth, it saddens me to see such a strong, dignified woman embarrass herself in such a manner. She is growing old, she's lost her husband along with three of her children, and now that you've returned...well...it would appear that she's seeing grumpkins in every dark corner. She once confronted me and claimed that I was trying to steal you from her or some such nonsense, did you know that? Lady Catelyn spends every hour of every day worrying that something will happen to you and your brother, I think. The strain of it all was simply more than her mind could handle, most like. I fear that not everyone is as strong as you are," added the Lord of the Dreadfort.

"If that's true, then someone has to take care of her; Robb won't do a good job though...not really. I can't do it because I'll be at the stupid Twins. Robb said we're going to ride for the Twins tomorrow morning," Arya grumbled, fighting back tears. _I will not cry. I am a direwolf. Direwolves don't...they don't...what if someday mother doesn't even remember who I am?_

"Mayhaps."

"Mayhaps? Wait...is that...is that why you were arguing with Ser Aenys earlier?"

"As you say. I advised Ser Aenys that it would be in his House's best interest if Lord Walder could be convinced to settle for a marriage between Lord Edmure and one of his daughters instead demanding one between you and his son Waltyr as well. The fool disagreed, but there will be time enough to deal with him later, I think. And if not...well...after the way that one disrespected you today, I fear I shall have to make time. I will not use any leeches on that day, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"He called you my pet rat. This will not serve."

"You're not going to –"

"It matters not at all how I choose to handle the man. We will speak no more of this."

"Yes, my Lord. My mother, she...I mean...she'll be okay, won't she?"

"Don't worry about your mother; I will be keeping a close eye on her from now on. For your sake, I will do all that I can to keep her from embarrassing herself further. You were right to tell me about her...condition. I'm proud of you," replied the Lord of the Dreadfort, mussing Arya's hair. The heir to the North found that – just like every other time Lord Bolton did that – she couldn't help giving him her widest smile, no matter how sad she felt.

"Lord Bolton?"

"Yes."

"If I ever disappointed you or did something bad can I still...I mean...you'd still let me live at the Dreadfort, wouldn't you?"

"I promise you that no matter what you do, you will always be welcome at the Dreadfort. My children and I would treat you as though you were a Bolton."

The moment that those words left her friend's lips, Arya raced over to Lord Bolton and hugged him. She hugged him even more tightly when – in an act that plainly surprised Lord Bolton almost as much as it did Arya – the Lord of the Dreadfort almost instinctively returned the hug. Lord Bolton ground his teeth and even twitched a few times in discomfort, but Arya didn't notice. She simply closed her eyes and smiled, secure in the knowledge that no matter what happened – even if her mother ever truly lost her wits and forgot about her someday – there would still be at least one person in Westeros who would always care about her.


	26. Tywin II and Arya IX

**Arya**

"What do we have here; the Young Wolf himself? Looks to me more like a pack of stray pups far from home. You call yourself a King? Tell me, boy; what kind of King comes crawling back to those he's wronged like a beat dog with its tail between its legs...and when he's winning a war no less. Mayhaps the kind who would remain forever young. Heh. The King in the North? The King Who Lost the North, I say," sneered Lord Walder. _Why is Robb letting him talk that way? He shouldn't...stupid Freys. I bet they gave us stale bread on purpose. I hate them, every one,_ Arya decided. _At least Hosteen's not around anymore or maybe he's still alive...maybe. I haven't seen him since my wolf dream two nights ago. He got lost looking for a village to rob, most like. At least Robb didn't let any of the Northern Lords steal from the smallfolk..._

"The war is not over, my Lord," seethed Robb.

"Most of the Lannisters are dead and Stannis has been at war with the Vale ever since your aunt killed his Hand along with the rest of the men he sent to the Eyrie asking for her help. Seems the guest right isn't what it used to be. Heh. The war for the North is over."

"Tywin Lannister has the entire might of the Reach behind him," Catelyn replied.

"For now, mayhaps. Tomorrow, who knows? I trust Mace Tyrell knows a losing side when he sees one; I certainly do... But enough about that, let's get a look at your kin and court. Hmm. Seems you'll have to attend not one, but two of my House's weddings, Lady Catelyn. You should do do a better job watching your children. You lost two to the Greyjoys, one to his crown, one to me, and one to the Lannisters. Of course, they lost their Stark to the Baratheons and now Stannis appears to have lost her to...well...what does it matter? The girl can't even inherit anymore, the way I hear it."

"Lord Walder, if I may –"

"No, you may not. You broke your word to me and then had the nerve to ask for my help. Now you'll let me have my say, do you hear me, boy?"

"Yes, my Lord," growled Robb.

"Can't imagine your mother is too happy that one of her daughters will be marrying a Frey. I should've made the girl marry Emmon's son, Tywin. Heh. You Tullys have always spat on my House, don't try to deny it. The thought of your daughter's Tully blood mixing with my son's Frey blood drives you mad, doesn't it, my Lady? Your bloody father thought he was too good to show up at a single Frey wedding. Never visited the Twins once unless he needed to cross my bridge. I collected a toll from him every time though, you can be damn sure of that. Look at you now, Hoster. You're dead and buried, your son – the Lord Paramount of the Trident – is going to marry one of my daughters, and your granddaughter – the heir to the North – is going to marry one of my sons. Heh. I imagine Young Wolf will be eager to get a fresh litter of pups from that new wife of his now that his heir will soon be a Frey."

"I'm a Stark, not a stupid Frey. And stop talking about my mother that way! Robb's your King and –"

"Now's not the time; we are in a very dangerous place," whispered Catelyn, nervously tugging on her daughter's shoulder.

"Listen to your mother," sneered the Lord of the Crossing.

"Shut up!"

"This must be the one Ser Aenys Frey wrote about, the little brat who's always following the Leech Lord around."

"I'm not scared of you; you're just a stupid old man and no Lord at all," snapped Arya. Lord Walder stared at her with hungry eyes that seemed to shine with greed, but Arya didn't break eye contact for even half a second. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Whoever looks away first is afraid. I am a direwolf. I am not afraid. And Lord Bolton would never let some stupid old Frey hurt me besides._

"Lord Walder, my sister only meant –"

"Don't piss on my foot and tell me it's raining, boy. I know what she meant. You think I'm too old to hear the people standing in front of me, is that the way of it? Bloody Starks. You all laugh at me too up in Winterhell, don't you?"

"It's Winterfell, stupid." _Why does mother look so frigthened? He's just an old man and Robb's his King besides._

"Fine. Let's get a look at you. Hmm...too flat for my taste, but the face is pretty enough, I suppose. My wife was only a few years older than you when I wed her, did you know that? Now I dine on all her finest parts at my leisure. Heh. Once you've been wed and bed, I'll have to ask Black Walder how the Northern meat tastes this time of year since my son Waltyr is probably too stupid to even know what to do with it. Bloody half-wit. Doesn't really matter which Frey takes your maidenhead as long as one of my sons does. Heh. It's all the same to me which one of them puts a baby in you, I can promise you that." _B-B-Black W-Walder?_ Arya paled at the mention of the man's name. _But Lord Bolton said Black...Black Walder would...would rape me and...and... He...he can't! M-mother wouldn't let...mother and Lord Bolton won't be here much longer,_ Arya realized, biting her lip and trembling with fear. _I...I will not cry. I am a dire...a d-d-direwolf. No. No. No. No._ She could hear Lord Bolton grinding his teeth as Lord Walder spoke and one had only to look at Robb's face to see that it had finally dawned on him just what sort of fate awaited his sister.

"I...I'm sorry. I didn't know...I thought...I only –"

"A King shouldn't talk to himself, boy. Don't worry about your sister; nothing will happen to her that you didn't cause. Heh. The King in the North. The way I hear it, men whisper that you're The King Who Lost the North. Heh. Not that I'd ever say such a thing... And to Balon Greyjoy, no less. Mayhaps I should've made an alliance with him instead. He seems like a man after my own heart, if nothing else. Fewer useless mouths to feed in that family though. Heh."

"Leave my brother alone!"

"We respect our elders at the Twins, little girl. Unless you're as dumb as you look, you'll do the same. I hope you don't require a sharp lesson; that face of yours wouldn't be half as pretty with an eye sealed shut."

"Lord Walder, you can insult my son and I all you want, but I swear to you on my honor as a Tully, on my honor as a Stark that if you or your kin lay a hand on my daughter, you will lose the hand. If you ever threaten her again, you will lose your tongue." _I knew she cared!_

"What's it like hiding behind your mother's skirts all the time, boy?"

"What's it like spending every hour of every day wondering how long it will be until one of your sons finally kills you. Oh and one more thing, my Lord. Call me 'boy' again and you'll wish that you hadn't," replied Robb, looking the Lord of the Twins directly in the eye. The Lord of the Crossing didn't look away; instead, a flicker of amusement crept across the cruel man's face. _He's not afraid of us,_ Arya realized. _He doesn't even care that Robb's his King. Why wouldn't he..._ The Lone Wolf scanned Lord Walder's features for some sort of clue; fortunately, the eldest Frey's face was an open book. _He wants to hurt Robb; he...he'd kill him if given half the chance. At least, he can't do anything while we're at the Twins now that we've all eaten his stupid bread and salt._

"It was merely a jape; of course, I would never permit any harm to come to my good-daughter," replied the old man with a smirk, raising his hands in the hair as if surrendering. In truth, a blind man could see that he was mocking his King with this display of feigned innocence. "Tell me, Your Grace, does the guest right mean nothing in the North? You lot come to my home begging me for my help and what do you do once you've eaten my bread and salt? You threaten me, your mother says she'll have my tongue out for giving honest counsel, and your sister insults me in my own castle. Is this the honor of the North? Heh. I suppose the last part isn't entirely your heir's fault."

"My sister is only my heir until my wife gives me a son. I could always modify my will again, if the current arrangement doesn't suit you, my Lord."

"Fine. I'll call her your temporary heir. Happy, Your Grace? Good." Catelyn took a step forward, but Robb gently held her back and desperately whispered something to his mother as she shot him a death glare. Arya couldn't hear all of her brother's words, but it sounded like he was saying something about not having a choice. _Of course you had a stupid choice; you could've listened to me, to our mother, or even asked Lord Bolton what he thought. If you really cared about me, you never would've sold me for a stupid bridge in the first place. Stop pretending you feel badly about what's going to happen just to make yourself feel better. You could still stop it if you really wanted to, but you don't...not really. Mother and Lord Bolton actually care about me and if it were up to them, I'd never have to see another stupid Frey ever again. Even mother was willing to trade me for some stupid old bridge until she saw how upset I was; Lord Bolton's the only one who's always been there for me. I should be at the Dreadfort right now, not the Twins._

"As I was saying before our beloved King's rude interruption," continued Lord Walder, "your temporary heir isn't entirely to blame for her actions. It's plain that you didn't have her whipped from an early age. Always told my sons and grandsons that there are only two things that will truly teach a woman her place...although I fear only some of them have the good sense to heed my counsel in this matter. The first is a bull whip. I never cared for that method although Hosteen and Ryman were always quite found of it; a good, hard whipping leaves scars and gives women ugly skin. If I wanted to fuck an ugly woman, I'd marry someone my own bloody age. Heh," snickered Lord Walder, slapping his terrified wife's arse.

"You...you can't do that! My family –"

"Mayhaps not while they're here... Of course, the second way to handle a bitch is to with a proper rape or two shortly before the marriage; teaches her who is the master and who is the slave. I took each of my wives the day before our wedding night and none of them ever gave me any lip since, have they?"

"No, my Lord," replied the old man's wife in a flat, emotionless voice that made her sound near as broken as she looked.

"And you'd best keep it that way. You're not half as good a lay as a girl your age should be, dumb bitch. What'd you ever give me, anyway? Just an army of useless children. Hard to believe that out of every squirt of cum I put into my wives and all of those milkmaids over the years, my children were the fastest. Heh. Tell me, little girl, how would you prefer to be disciplined? I'd enjoy the second way more, personally, but we'd have to hurry if you expect to get anything in before your wedding tomorrow."

"NO! Never! Please, I...I don't w-w-want...but I...you can't! My f-f-fam...my family, they...they wouldn't let you and...and L-Lord Bolt...Lord...I mean...you...c-c-c-can't...I don't –" _Not today! Not today! Not today! Not today!_

"Oh settle down; it was only a jape. Course, your mother and brother won't be around here much longer, will they? Heh. No matter how we try, I fear we can't protect our children forever. Just ask your mother," the old man sneered as his lips curled into a cruel smile.

"Jape or not, I fear a man who speaks in such a manner will oft find himself wishing all too late that he'd held his tongue. Even the oldest among us would be wise to see that they do not forget themselves, I think. Else they may not continue growing old much longer," seethed Lord Bolton as he took a few steps forward and gently pulled Arya back by the scruff of her shirt. For a moment, it was impossible to say whether Walder Frey or Catelyn Stark was more surprised by that remark. In truth, everyone in the room except Arya looked as though they couldn't believe what they'd just heard. _Of course Lord Bolton said something, he's my friend! Why is that so hard for everyone else to believe? No, more than a friend, he's...he's like a second father. He'll always care about me no matter what and he'd never abandon me if I needed him. Maybe he's still trying to think of a way to keep me from having to marry a stupid Frey...maybe. I'm going to ask if I'm allowed to call him uncle Bolton from now on,_ Arya decided.

"It speaks," grunted the Lord of the Crossing. "Mayhaps Ser Aenys was right about you. I couldn't believe it when I read the raven he sent at first, but it would seem that the Lord of the Dreadfort – a rare man unhindered by sentimentality – has been reduced to little more than a soft-hearted wet nurse...and by a little girl, no less. Heh. Tell me, my Lord, does the leash that child uses while walking her dog ever leave any marks on your neck? Does the collar ever get too tight?"

"You will be silent," replied Lord Bolton in a voice as sharp as Valyrian steel. _I've never heard him sound so angry before. He's not even trying to hide it...not really._

"Is that so, my Lord? I wonder, why do so many of my kin seem to have accidents around you. Hosteen and Elmar have disappeared, I'm told. Even Ryman dropped dead the day of your wedding."

"Do you wish to join him, my Lord," asked the Lord of the Dreadfort mildly. Arya thought about what Lord Bolton would do if someone ever made him lose his temper and shuddered. Lord Walder was plainly thinking about the same thing, since he slumped down further and further into his seat as the Lord of the Dreadfort began silently staring at him.

"Forgive me, my Lord, I...I'm simply used to being treated with respect by my guests. A mere slip of the tongue is all, I meant no offense, I assure you. Umbers, Mormonts, Manderlys...the rest of you aren't worth the time it would take me to insult you. We have enough room for you lot, but the rest of your men must needs sleep in tents outside. Now leave me be; I can't stand the sight of you. Go on, out I say! All of you, go and pick a bloody room; I don't care which ones."

"Thank you, my Lord," growled Robb.

...

 **Tywin**

 _This is an abomination. What kind of beast murders a man at his own wedding,_ Tywin silently screamed – realizing almost immediately that a massacre was about to occur – as the first arrow raced through the room and entered Ser Lancel's head through the fool's left eye, killing him instantly. Three more soon lodged themselves in the Mountain's throat as he flipped the table over. It took another arrow to extinguish House Clegane, but by then Ser Gregor had already killed five Tarly men-at-arms with his bare hands. _I spared Lord Tarly, I...I offered...I made a Lannister match for his daughter despite his insolence and this is the thanks I get? You've damned your entire House in the eyes of Gods and men for the rest of time, do you hear me? No Lannister would ever do such a thing!_

 _That...that monster, Lord Tarly, he...the man has shit for honor. No, not even that much can be said for the savage,_ Tywin decided as he hid behind the overturned table with Lord Crakehall and Lord Marbrand...the only other men who had survived the first fifteen seconds of the massacre. There was also the Tarly girl whom they'd managed to take hostage; it was plainly the only reason they weren't already dead. _I should have known the moment he said his wife was ill and couldn't attend her own daughter's damned wedding._ Finally, the arrows stopped and Lord Marbrand forced the top of Talla Tarly's head just above the table. An arrow raced across the room and made its way through the girl's head, killing her instantly and spearing Lord Marbrand's right hand. The fool lept into the air, clutching his hand in pain and was dead within seconds as Lord Randyll roared in anger.

 _He's been planning this from the moment I made the offer,_ Tywin realized. _He's been planning to extinguish my bloodline ever since I...wait! Seven Hells! Where is Tommen? If they have him, then they will soon have the heir to Casterly Rock and the Iron Throne. This will cause a complete breakdown in...no man will ever trust his host's word again. What kind of fool would ever trust a Tarly after this crime?_

"We only want Lord Tywin. I have King Tommen in my custody and his grandfather must die before he can inherit any land. As for the rest of you, if you come out from behind that table and pledge fealty, I will spare your lives," shouted Lord Randyll. _We...we ate the man's bread and salt. What kind of savage would do such a thing? Do the guest right and the scared laws of hospitality mean nothing to these dogs?_ Lord Crakehall emerged from behind the table and two seconds later, he was an arrow-filled corpse. _At least someone here got what they deserved..._

 _I will not spend the rest of my life being tortured for Lord Randyll's amusement and displayed to his guests like a caged animal. I will die like a Lannister...with dignity._ As he scanned the carnage surrounding him, a single object caught the Last Lion's eye and he knew he'd found a way out. _I won't give that bastard the satisfaction,_ Tywin thought to himself as he grabbed a dirk from Lord Marbrand's corpse and slit his throat.

...

 **Arya**

Arya knew what the Frey's were and would always hate them...especially Lord Walder, but it helped that Lord Edmure's wedding had gone so well. The Lord of the Crossing was like a changed man that night. Anyone who'd only seen him on his new good-son's wedding night would've sworn that Walder Frey was the very personification of humility, compassion, and generosity of spirit. Lord Edmure and some of the other Lords seemed to speak a bit less harshly of him after that, but Arya wasn't fooled and neither were her mother or Lord Bolton. Robb stormed out during the bedding ceremony though. _I won't let Waltyr Frey do that to me. Never! Edmure shouldn't have made his wife do that in front of everyone. Didn't he see how scared she was? The poor woman was crying; what kind of man would want to bed his wife in front of his friends and family anyway?_

 _Mother said he spent the rest of the night lost in his cups and crying about how sorry he was until he passed out, but if he was really sorry, he wouldn't have sold me to the Freys for a stupid bridge or...he could've at least let me live at the Dreadfort. I hate him,_ Arya decided as she made her way to Lord Bolton's chambers. _Him and his stupid bridge. If Robb wanted the bridge so badly, he should've just married a Frey instead of...Lord Bolton was right. Robb sold me like a slave at some stupid auction; this is all his fault!_ Suddenly, Arya saw Black Walder approaching and instinctively ducked into a nearby room.

"Bloody Starks, what are they good for anyway? All they ever done is spit on us...laugh at us. They won't be laughing when I put a sword through Robb Stark's heart tonight, I can tell you that much. At least his sister is nice and young...ugly as a horse though. Father's eyes must be going," said Black Walder. _The Freys, they...they're going to kill Robb,_ Arya realized, biting her lip. _They're going to do it at my stupid wedding, most like. It's in two hours and everyone will be in one place. I...I have to tell Lord Bolton; he'll know what to do!_ _Mother and Robb might not believe me until it's too late, but Lord Bolton will listen; I know he will!_ "Ordinarily, I'd suggest that father take her himself or leave her for Waltyr, but I've never sampled one that young. You know what they say, Lothar, variety is the spice of life," snickered Black Walder with a wicked grin.

"Quiet, you bloody idiot. Someone might hear you," hissed the one called Lothar. Arya watched him hobble along behind his brother and when the two men were gone, she raced to her best friend's chambers as fast as her legs would carry her.

...

"Lord Bolton," wheezed Arya, struggling to catch her breath.

"Yes?"

"It's the Freys, they...they're planning to murder Robb at the wedding and...and...you don't believe me do you? I heard them, I really did!"

"Heard who," asked Lord Bolton, blowing out a candle and removing it.

"Black...Black Walder and another Frey. One with...one with a limp. He –"

"Lame Lothar?"

"Maybe, I don't know, but Black Walder was...was talking about killing Robb and...and raping me."

"I feared as much; I warned your brother that the Freys were not to be trusted. You were right to come to me; I am...proud of you," replied Lord Bolton as he mussed Arya's hair. Even now, she couldn't help giving the Lord of the Dreadfort her widest smile when he did that. It made her feel safe; it made her feel like she still had a father... _Why does he sound so sad? There's still time to stop the Freys! We can save Robb and my mother; I know we can!_

"Then you believe me?"

"Yes, I believe you," sighed Lord Bolton, picking up a large, bronze candlestick holder.

"Good. I knew that you would! Now how do we –" *THUD*


	27. Roose I

**Roose**

The Lord of the Dreadfort studied the unconscious girl lying on the ground. _I cannot leave her here; she'd wake up before the wedding. If I tie her up, gag her, and lock her in a trunk then she might suffocate. I always could tie her up and cut out her...no. Anyone else and mayhaps I would cut out their tongue, but not this one. The girl is far too amusing to silence. In truth, Domeric does not need the Starkling's tongue to put a baby in her and he will soon develop a singular hatred for the sound of her voice, most like. It matters not at all. I will not mutilate her nor will I permit my son to do so. And there are other alternatives besides,_ Lord Bolton decided, frowning at his own weakness.

 _Father would be ashamed of me...and rightly so. I fear that this is what comes of indulging a child by permitting hugs and other foolish displays of affection. Weakness begets weakness and a wise man never concerns himself with the welfare of those around him...not even his kin. One should only concern himself with ensuring that he acts in his own interests in all things great and small. Doing otherwise is as foolish as it is dangerous. My father had the right of it, I think. He never hugged me or displayed any affection toward me when I was a boy and it made me a stronger man, I think. It was plainly a mistake to try to comfort the girl when she was afraid. Letting the child think of me as a father figure and a protector should not have caused any changes in my own behavior. The Gods alone know what madness possessed me to let the girl hug me or worse...to return her last one,_ the Lord of the Dreadfort silently seethed, grinding his teeth.

 _Lord Snow would've cut out her tongue the same way another man might peel a potato...and while she was awake, I think. Whatever else my bastard may be, he is plainly a better man than I in that regard. It would seem that we all have our gifts...even the likes of him. It matters not at all. I will not permit any unnecessary mutilations to her person. So long as at least one of her kin is alive with his sanity intact, it should be a simple enough matter to control her. Killing one of her brothers should be sufficient to acquire the girl's full cooperation. It has been far too long since I skinned a child, I think. I fear I may indulge myself excessively...mayhaps it would be wiser to have my bastard do it. That way child will blame him for the lesson while still doing whatever Domeric and I tell her._ Arya groaned and began to stir.

 _I confiscated samples of the poisons and healing potions from Qyburn's stores at Harrenhal, mayhaps... Milk of the poppy should be sufficient, I think. The girl will not have to suffer hearing her mother and brother die._ The Lord of the Dreadfort carefully poured a little bit of the white liquid onto a spoon, inserted it into Arya's mouth, and forced her to swallow. The child stopped moving and slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep. Lord Bolton carefully picked up Robb Stark's heir and gently placed her on his bed. He turned to leave the room when Arya quietly whimpered a single word: "Father?" _She is having a poppy dream already, I think._

"No," the Lord of the Dreadfort sadly whispered as he closed the door and locked it from the outside. _With some adjustments and a proper upbringing, you could have been my daughter...mayhaps even my son were you of the right sex. At the least, you could've been born a Bolton...but you are not. You have no one but yourself to blame for forgetting that. One would've expected a child clever and resourceful enough to elude the Lannisters and safely journey from King's Landing to Harrenhal would be able to grasp this. I fear the girl was plainly so desperate for a pat on the head from the nearest man her father's age that she'd believe anything I told her about her kin. She will get her wish, I think. Arya Stark will be a Bolton once Domeric has wed and bed her, and she shall spend the rest of her days at Winterfell and the Dreadfort. Domeric and I shall reside at Winterfell once it has been rebuilt, I think. My bastard can have the Dreadfort. Mayhaps I should permit him to establish a cadet branch of House Bolton and a second one at Hornwood._

 _In truth, it took very little to turn the Starkling against her fool of a brother. The King Who Lost the North did most of my work for me, I think. The mother was even worse. Ned Stark may have been a fool, but he was a strong Lord; that much must be said for the man. Mayhaps this experience will impress upon Arya the dangers of forming emotional attachments. The girl is only 13; a woman grown in the most important sense, but a child all the same. There is still time for adjustments, I think._

 _I suppose it is not entirely her fault that she became so desperate for my approval that she would've convinced herself of anything if there was a chance that doing so would please me. It was a behavior borne of emotion and fear, I think. It is known that women are foolish, weak-minded creatures and slaves to their emotions besides. This one has transcended the natural failings of her sex to a degree I never would have believed possible. An exceptional child, to be sure, but a member of the weaker sex all the same. Like all women, I fear Arya is ultimately governed by her emotions. It matters not at all. She has the right name and would never harm my grandchildren out of spite. If anything, I imagine she will be a fiercely protective mother after tonight._

 _At least, there is still time to disabuse her of these foolish notions about her family. The wolves were strong once, but by tomorrow, they will be confined to histories of The North where they belong. It is known that most Starks are soft of heart and even softer of mind. How the Red Kings of the Dreadfort were ever brought to heel by such men, I shall never know..._

 _In truth, Arya should be kissing my boots in gratitude the moment she awakens. I saved her from the Brave Companions, from the soft-hearted fools in her own House, from the Freys of the Crossing. I didn't even cut out the girl's tongue. Will she thank me for it? No, of course not; she'll spit in my face, most like. I wonder...if I gave her a chance to kill me, could she do it? I think not, but I may have to try that someday. I'd need only to leave a fake knife lying around and pretend to be asleep._

 _It is fortunate that I learned her identity before receiving Lord Baelish's offer. Else I might've formed an alliance with that fool only to wed my son and heir to an impostor. The Tyrells will be far more dependable allies, I think. Lord Randyll plainly appreciated my counsel how best to dispose of the remaining Lannisters. I must needs find Lothar; I fear the festivities will have to begin without Arya. That cripple is the only Frey who can be trusted to discreetly relay this information to Lord Walder. In truth, he is the only member of his House who has even a glimmer of potential,_ Lord Bolton decided as he made his way toward the great hall.

 _When I confronted the cripple with my knowledge that he'd poisoned Ser Ryman on the morning after my wedding, Lothar did not panic as many men would...nor did he insult my intelligence by denying it. He calmly – and rather respectfully – stated that if I intended to tell anyone then he'd already be dead. The cripple was correct, of course. His discretion was lacking to be sure, but I suppose such foolishness is to be expected from a Frey. Lothar is a rather ambitious man, I think. He is also wise enough to understand that a cripple will never lead House Frey and plans to rule through his half-brother Edwyn. After meeting that soft-headed fool and his pet rat, Walder Rivers, I can see why the cripple chose him._

 _Ever since that day; I have owned Lame Lothar and all of his co-conspirators; an empty promise of support was all it took. At the time, I thought I'd merely discovered another amusement, but one never knows when an ambitious, short-sighted man of flexible morals will prove the proper tool for the task at hand. One would think it would give the fools pause that I had one of them, Ser Hosteen killed for suggesting that my future good-daughter be whipped; he was among the original conspirators, after all. I suppose it would not serve for that lot to realize that any of them can be discarded like a broken toy on a whim._

 _In truth, the cripple saved my life; the loyalty one can acquire simply my calling a man by his name instead of "Lame Lothar" or "cripple" is remarkable. Of course, women are far from the only creatures ruled by their emotions. I would not have guessed Lord Walder would be so short-sighted as to think he could rule the North simply by murdering me the day I before I was to leave the Twins, wedding Arya Stark to his son Waldyr, and blaming me for a massacre that occurred under his own roof. It matters not at all. Soon one man will rule the Twins and I will rule the Riverlands through him simply because I addressed a cripple by his name and never japed about his leg._

 _Father seldom spoke favorably of me when he knew I was listening, but I oft heard him say to those who kept that his counsel that my greatest gift was the ability to detect a man's greatest insecurities after a single conversation. Whatever Ned Stark's faults were – and the fool had a great many of them – I always respected him for being one of the few whom I was never able to influence in this way. The man's code was suicidal madness, but he never strayed from it. The Starks are weak creatures by nature who are plainly all too willing to let their hearts bleed all over the floor if given half the chance._

 _It would be wrong to blame Arya for her chief faults_ , Lord Bolton decided. _The girl's concern for the smallfolk was no doubt the result of being raised by a family weaker than herself; she will grow out of it after a few years in her new House, I think. The rest of her weaknesses stem from acting out of emotion rather than carefully considering the consequences of each possible action. This is a product of her sex and I fear there are limits to how much one can transcend such a thing..._

 _The mother is of little consequence now that the Freys have decided to lay claim to Riverrun through Lord Edmure's son. The woman is little more than a doomed amusement, not unlike a dying wolf too weak to stop men from skinning it. Robb Stark plainly wishes to live by his father's idiocy, but is too weak to accept the consequences of such actions. A man cannot speak of honor and then break his word for a prettier face. Of course, it matters not at all that he broke his word to Lord Walder once he no longer needed him. Were it done for pragmatic reasons, it might've even given the boy a single redeeming feature. Of course, he did not do it to form a marriage alliance with the Tyrells. Even a betrothal to Stannis Baratheon's daughter or Balon Greyjoy's heir while the height of foolishness, might've at least had some strategic rationale in the mind of a boy who plainly knows little and less about what it means to rule. Jeyne Westerling gained The North nothing and earned House Stark the eternal enmity of Lord Walder. Madness._ The Lord of the Dreadfort heard Lame Lothar hobbling toward him well before he saw the cripple.

"Lord Bolton, it is...the wedding is about to..." Suddenly, a series of screams cut through the castle. "Fuck it, never mind. We had to start without you, not that it really matters. I noticed the Stark girl following Black Walder and me. My half-brother wanted to cut out the child's tongue, rape her, and open the girl's throat, but I convinced him that the fool would just go running to you anyway. And she's worth more dead than alive besides. The Starkling has been dealt with, hasn't she?"

"As you say."

"Excellent, my Lord."

"And your father?"

"Walder Rivers has poured the potion you provided into his father's wine."

"And what of brave Ser Aenys? I believe that was to be a part of your contribution."

"Throat slit and stuffed into a trunk, just like you asked, my Lord. Don't see why he needed to die, but I can't say I'll miss the bastard. The fool was dead before he knew what hit him. No one suspects a cripple, my Lord. Not even one with a knife."

"As you say." _No son of mine will ever turn kinslayer while I'm alive. The other so-called laws of Gods and men are little more than arbitrary rules for fools too weak to take what they want, but not that one. In truth, even bastards are kin...no matter how often they may trespass against us. Domeric's mother was...well...we all make mistakes. And a man may do as he pleases with his property besides._

 _Domeric knows that no man is so accursed as a kinslayer. He will not murder his wife or any of their children; he may beat the Starkling within an inch of her life when she is not with child as is his right, but turn kinslayer over some inevitable provocation? No. He is my son and I have done all I can to re-build him in my image. It matters not at all what happens after I am dead and buried, but until that time, my son shall due as he is bid. In truth, that is not the greatest threat to joining the Bolton and Stark bloodlines. Lord Snow...well...keeping him in the Dreadfort is the only way my grandchildren will ever come of age, most like. It is fortunate that he captured Lord Reed's heir; so long as my bastard wasn't foolish enough to kill the girl, I can wed him to Lady Meera. In time, the Bolton bloodline will have absorbed too many other Northern Houses to allow a viable challenge. And there are, of course, our fine friends in Barrowtown and Karhold...to say nothing of those in The Reach._

...

Lord Bolton opened the door to the great hall once the screaming stopped and gazed at the carnage before him, carefully etching every detail of the scene in his mind's eye. _Whatever else happens after this day, it matters not at all. There is nothing greater I could hope to accomplish in life than this. Winter may indeed be coming, but so too are the Red Kings, I think._ The Lord of the Dreadfort continued to scan the room and frowned. _Lord Walder has not touched his wine. Worse, Robb Stark died before I could force him to bite down on one of the stone edges lining the room and crush his head beneath my boot. And neither of the Tullys are here... I suppose this is what comes of sending a Frey to do a man's job._

"Lord Walder, I see that you have enjoyed your wedding present," said the Lord of the Dreadfort as he carefully stepped over the SmallJon's entrails.

"Lord Bolton, good of you to join us. Better late than never, I suppose," muttered the Lord of the Crossing.

"Arya Stark heard two of your sons discussing the wedding. Fortunately, the girl came straight to me with this information."

"Did you kill the little Stark bitch?"

"That would not serve. The girl is the heir to Winterfell; the Queen of the North now that you have killed her brother and his wife. I can only assume the abomination next to Jeyne Westerling's belly is...well...was their child. In truth, I would never have guessed she was with child. He didn't tell even tell his mother, I think."

"I wouldn't talk to that shriveled old cunt if she was my mother either. Once they turn twenty, they're nowhere near as good in bed, so why bother? I've been at this along time and I promise you, they never disappoint at fourteen. Mayhaps you wouldn't be so bloody serious all the time if you tried one around that age. Take my word for it, my Lord; it'll be the best lay you ever had." _I'd sooner take the word of a fresh piece of shit. The Gods have plainly placed me a room with the likes of you to teach me humility. You and your kin reek of excess and self-indulgence; a wise man takes enough pride in his work to conduct himself in a professional manner. I am a Bolton; I don't belong here with the likes of you. And power tastes best when sweetened with courtesy besides._

"I see Ser Wendel and the SmallJon's corpses. Did you take any Northerners alive? I will need as many hostages as I can find, I think."

"That one calling who was always calling himself the GreatJon, some Mormont woman who tried to dance with my son Edwyn, and others whom you might recognize."

"And what of the Tullys? I see neither of them here."

"The old whore managed to sneak a knife out with her when Black Walder was taking her to the dungeon. She opened his throat, but the bitch won't get far. And even if she does, what does it matter? Lord Edmure has married my daughter Roselin." _Fool. The North and Riverlands alike will rally around her. No, she is still here, most like. The first place she'd go is..._

"Lord Walder, if you'll indulge me, I fear we would be remiss if we did not toast Robb Stark. We could not have achieved this without him, I think," said the Lord of the Dreadfort as he poured himself a cup of wine.

"Very well. To the King Who Lost The North," shouted Lord Walder, downing his cup before Lord Bolton could pretend to drink from his own. Lame Lothar bolted the door shut and Walder Frey's face twisted in pain as The Strangler did its work. Before long, the Lord of the Crossing lay dead, his face as purple as the grapes lying next to him on the floor.

"Lothar, tell your kin that their father has choked to death on his wine. And keep them away from my chambers."

"Yes, my Lord."

...

"Arya, wake up," whispered Catelyn as Lord Bolton quietly watched. "Arya? Say something! We have to get out of here now! ARYA?"

"Mother," groaned Arya, never opening her eyes.

"Arya? It...it's me; what did they do you? Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! I can carry –"

"Mother, did Robb really tell you to marry Lord Bolton?" _The girl is plainly lost in poppy dreams again...deeply disturbing ones._

"What? Are you...what did they make you drink," Catelyn asked the unconscious child as she desperately rummaged through the poisons and potions in Lord Bolton's chambers.

"I'll have a mother and father again!"

"You already have a father, you...you always did."

"I'm a direwolf!"

"That's right, you...you are a Stark of Winterfell. You're my daughter and...and you...please wake up! I...I need to tell you how much I love you one more time before we join Ned and the rest of your siblings," wept Catelyn.

"When will Jon come back? I don't want him to go..."

"He...he'll be here soon. We'll...we...we'll all be together again and...and –"

"My mother won't want me...not really. She always loved my sister though..."

"Arya," sobbed Catelyn as she hugged her daughter, "I have always loved you and I always will! Please, I can fix whatever they did to you. Just tell...tell me...tell me what it was that they gave you and I...I promise I'll protect you. I –"

"And who will protect you, my Lady," asked Lord Bolton. Catelyn spun around, picked a knife up off the ground, and bore her teeth at the Lord of the Dreadfort.

"I may not leave this room alive, but I swear on my honor as a Tully...on my honor as a Stark, I will open your throat if you don't tell me how to fix whatever you monsters did to her."

"Very well. I poisoned your daughter; it amused me to watch the child die after all of the trust that she placed in me. I chose something slow that would also cause her to go soft in the head as it took effect; that way I can watch both her body and her mind die. I could tell you which of the liquids on my desk would cure her, but if you would see your daughter live another day then you must needs trade your life for hers. Drop your weapon and you have my word that no harm will come to your daughter tonight. You say you love the girl and want to protect her? Very well. Now's your chance to prove it. Go on, Arya's life is entirely within your hands." Without a moment's hesitation, Catelyn dropped the knife as a look of complete and utter defeat spread across her face. _Fool._ Lord Bolton made his way toward the sobbing mother and his lips curled into a cruel smile.

"Tell me! You...you swore you'd tell me!"

"I'd have hoped members of your House would know better than to trust me by now. Do you truly believe that I would ever harm your daughter? My children might, but I myself would not. The girl is the heir to The North; only a half-wit would kill something that valuable and in truth, I enjoy her a great deal. I merely hit your daughter in the back of the head and forced her to drink Milk of the Poppy so that she would not spend her nights lying awake with the screams of her kin echoing through her mind. And it wouldn't serve for Lady Arya to see her mother die besides." Suddenly, Lord Bolton grabbed the broken woman's throat with both hands and squeezed as tightly as he could without crushing her windpipe.

"The Stark bloodline will soon be extinguished. And I want to share a secret with you before you die. Brandon and Rickon Stark are both prisoners of mine. Theon Greyjoy didn't burn Winterfell. I did...well...my bastard burned it on my orders. I'm going to kill one of your sons as soon as I return to the Dreadfort and lock the other one in a dungeon cell. If your daughter proves...difficult, I shall have the remaining Starkling flayed in front of her. Or I may unman the remaining boy if even this is not sufficient... Your daughter is going to wed my son and heir; that would make her proper name Arya Bolton, I think. Of course, this means that my son won't have to rape your daughter in order to put a baby in her since he can simply claim his rights as her Lord husband. Do you know why I'm telling you this?" Catelyn was plainly unable to speak, but the ocean of tears pouring down her cheeks was a sufficient reply.

"I am telling you this because I need you to understand the full extent to which you have failed your children. You were unable to keep any of them out of harm's way when they needed you most. Lady Sansa is being kept as a hostage by your own sister, the Freys killed Robb, and the other three of your children are mine to do with as I please. I want you to understand that you have failed in the single worst way that a mother can fail her children: you could not protect them from those who would do them harm. I need you to know that even when you threatened me; you were powerless to save a single one of those poor, sweet children. Oh and one more thing, I am going to tell Lady Arya that right before the Freys killed you, you begged Lord Walder to do whatever he wanted with her and spare Robb. She will spend the rest of her life wondering if those were your last words, I think." Without another word, Lord Bolton choked the last bit of life out of Catelyn Stark, his lips twisted into a cruel smile as the dead woman's eyes rolled into the back of her head.


	28. Arya X

**Arya**

"Uggghhhh...what...what happened," groaned Arya as she opened her eyes and scanned the room around her. She was lying on a feather bed so soft that her whole body seemed to sink into it as though it were made of quick sand. _Where am I? Why aren't there any windows? Am I at the Twins? No...not even Robb would make me marry a Frey after they tried to...ROBB! I have to warn him; the Freys were going to try to kill him and...where's mother? I can't lose her again! I never even got to apologize for all the things I said before I knew how much she cared about me. I won't let the Freys hurt her! I...I'll save her...somehow_.

"Hello? Is anyone there? HELLOOOOOOOO? HELP! PLEASE, I...I'm locked in this room and...LET ME OUT," shouted the lone wolf, tugging on the doorknob. _No one's coming. I was locked in here on purpose; it must have been the Freys. They must have...no, that can't be it. I had just told Lord Bolton and...and then everything went black. It doesn't make sense. He's dead too, most like. I wish...I wish Lord Bolton was here; he'd know what to do._ Arya felt something cold tied to her left leg beneath her britches and shivered. _I still have Vengeance,_ she realized, allowing herself the smallest of smiles. The lone wolf untied her flaying knife and hid it beneath mattress of the feather bed she'd been sleeping on. *CLICK* Suddenly, the door swung open and Lord Bolton entered the room.

"You're awake."

"YOU'RE ALIVE! Does that mean...is Robb alright? Where's mother? I need to talk to her, I –"

"I fear that is impossible."

"What? Why not? Is she alright?"

"No, she is not. I killed her while we were at the Twins."

"What? I...I don't understand."

"You don't understand why I killed your mother or you don't understand that she's dead?" Arya staggered backward and the room began to spin; she could feel tears pouring down her cheeks. Before long, it was impossible to think anything save for a single thought that kept playing in a loop: _It can't be true; this has to be another nightmare or...or... No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No._

"But...but, I...she can't...you wouldn't...I mean...I never...I...I thought...I mean...why would you –"

"It is simple enough, I think. The Starks of Winterfell have spat upon my House ever since the Red Kings of the Dreadfort were forced to bend the knee." _I never spat on you... And who were the stupid old Red Kings anyway? Sansa would know who they were, most like_

"For centuries, your House was too powerful to openly challenge, so we waited. Your brother Robb was a weak fool and when he named himself King in the North...well...I fear I had no choice but to relieve him of his burden. I fear that sooner or later the King Who Lost The North would have dragged the rest of his kingdom down with him had I not taken matters into my own hands. And I'd already risen as high as I could while your kin drew breath besides. After the Greyjoys attacked, I sent my bastard to burn Winterfell to the ground while I did the same to the remnants of your House. As for your mother...well...I fear that it would not serve to have her running around. The North would rally around her, I think. The Riverlands too, most like."

"B-B-But the Greyjoys attacked Winterfell."

"As you say. Theon Turncloak, the treasonous whore, took Winterfell before my bastard destroyed your former home. It is being rebuilt, of course.

"You k-k-killed Bran and...and Rickon?"

"No."

"I...I don't under...I don't understand," stammered Arya, frantically racking her brain for something – anything – that would prove this was all some sort of nightmare or even a sick joke...but it was no use. _Lord Bolton, he...he killed mother, Robb, Bran, and Rickon? Mother, she...she even tried to warn me and I...I didn't believe her. I trusted Lord Bolton instead of her; I...I don't deserve to have a family. No one should ever want me anymore...not after I...Sansa would probably never speak to me again if she knew I was still alive. Everyone will hate me now and...I'm sorry, mother! I didn't know; I swear! Please don't hate me; I...I'm so sorry! I never even got to say goodbye... I'm sorry, mother, I never hated you...not really. I didn't know!_ _I could have saved mother if I'd believed her; I could have...I could've...it's all my fault. I..I deserve whatever Lord Bolton is going to do to me_.

 _Please forgive me, mother! There's no one left would ever want me; everyone will hate me for not believing you. You can't be dead! I...I need...please don't leave me here. I should have saved her...somehow. I...I don't deserve to have a family...not really. NO! Mother, she...she'd still love me no matter what. She wouldn't want me to think like this. Mother would want me to keep going. I have to escape and find Sansa...somehow,_ Arya decided as she slumped to the ground and buried her face in her hands.

"Then everything you said...everything, it...it was all a lie? You were just looking for a chance to kill my family? Did you...I mean...did you always hate me?"

"Everything? No, not everything... In truth, I never hated you. I could have simply killed you and used the girl Lord Baelish found as a replacement. You may be rather singular child, but I doubt anyone of note in the North would remember what you look like. In truth, it would've likely been far easier to manage some frightened little girl...safer too, I think. Most members of the weaker sex are weak-willed fools; you are a rare exception, I think. We might ask our friend Lord Vargo what comes of underestimating you. It matters not at all. Do you know why I didn't take Lord Baelish's whore? The reason is that I do not hate you...well...that and the fact that you'd half to be soft in the head to believe a word out of that man's mouth." _Littlefinger helped Lord Bolton and the Freys kill Robb?_

"In truth, I enjoy you far too much to ever kill you and the world is more interesting with you in it besides," grumbled Lord Bolton. _Lord Bolton still cares about me at least a little bit, even if he is a monster. It wasn't all just some Bolton lie...not really. He's not even trying to hide how angry he is at himself about the fact that he cares. It has to be true! Lord Bolton couldn't kill me if he wanted to...not really. He doesn't hate me; he just...hated my family is all. He'd never hurt me and I...I...I mean...I hate him! He shouldn't have killed my mother! Maybe I can trick him into letting his guard down the next time he tries to be nice to me...maybe,_ Arya thought to herself, eyeing the spot where she'd hidden Vengeance.

"I...I trusted you...I thought you were...you were like having another...like a...a...a –"

"A father?"

"Yes. You were like a father to...I mean...NO! That...that wasn't what I meant. I hate you!"

"Hate away, the rest of my children do," Lord Bolton replied, yawning.

"I am NOT one of your stupid children."

"As you say. You will not be a Bolton for two more days, I think." _I'm a Stark, not a Bolton. My father was a Stark too, so I'll always be a Stark. What is he talking about,_ the lone wolf wondered as the Lord of the Dreadfort mussed her hair. For a moment, she couldn't help giving Lord Bolton her widest smile out of habit. After a few seconds, her smile turned to a bitter scowl and she bolted away from the monster. _Is this...it's like petting a dog to him?_

"I'm not your stupid pet!"

"Mayhaps."

"HEY! I said I'm not –"

"I fear I have no time to argue semantics with you. In any case, you plainly trusted me more than your kin. As I recall, you wanted to live out the rest of your days at the Dreadfort." _What are "semantics?" Wait a minute..._

"I did not trust you more than my...well...I only did it because you were like fam...wait, that's not what I meant. I didn't trust you more than my mother, I just...I mean...umm...I just...shut up!"

"Mind your tongue."

"You were...I thought you were my friend," seethed Arya.

"I see no reason why that need change so long as you do as you are bid."

"No reason? You murdered my mother and three of my brothers! Most of my family, they...they're dead because of you."

"Does it matter?"

"Are you insane? Of course it matters that you murdered most of my family!"

"Mayhaps I am; in truth, I have oft considered the possibility. It matters not at all, I think."

"Don't you care if people think you're –"

"Insane? No, not particularly. My sanity or lack thereof has no baring upon the situation in which we presently find ourselves, I think. In truth, it matters not at all whether or not I am a madman."

"But –"

"Is that all? Good, now then –" _I...I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!_

"I am going to kill you someday," whispered Arya, forcing herself to speak in a flat, emotionless voice...just like Lord Bolton had taught her when they were at Harrenhal. She lifted her head and tried to look the Lord of the Dreadfort directly in the eye, but her own eyes were so watery that the entire room was a blur.

"Go on then, do it. That is the handle of the flaying knife I gave you poking out from beneath the mattress, I think. You say you want to kill me. Very well, here I stand." _How did he know? It...it has to be some sort of game. He can't fool me!_

"No. I...I won't and you can't make me," replied Arya, wiping her eyes on her left sleeve. She couldn't help smiling for a moment when she saw the look of complete and utter disappointment on Lord Bolton's face.

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to try to kill you...not really. If you want me to attack you, then I won't do it. It has to be some sort of trick."

"You always were a clever child."

"I am not a child, stupid. I'm a woman grown and –"

"You will not address me as 'stupid.' Is that understood?"

"I can call you 'idiot' instead, if you'd like."

"Mind your tongue, Lady Arya."

"Or what? You can't kill me; you said so yourself, remember? You already killed my whole family, so you can't do anything except threaten me. And I'm not a stupid Lady."

"I was hoping to punish you for trying to kill me by executing your brother Brandon, but by failing to break a rule, I fear you have deprived me of that opportunity. If you call me that word again, then you will force me to make an example of the boy. The two of us may be unable to kill each other, but I can kill your kin. Quite easily, I think." _What is he talking about? I hate him! He's lying about Bran; he has to be, and I'm going to kill him right now besides. I could kill him I wanted to; I just...don't want to do anything he wants me to is all. I really could kill him though, I...I'll show him!_

Arya reached for Vengeance's handle only to find that her left arm kept pulling away whenever her hand got too close almost as though it had a mind of its own. She ground her teeth and bit her lip as her body betrayed her. _I could kill Lord Bolton right now if I wanted to; I hate him! I just...chose not to is all. Maybe I don't have to kill him right away...maybe. Why can't I just grab the stupid knife? I hate him! I hate him! I hate him!_

"Bran's dead. You told your bastard to murder him," snapped Arya.

"No, I merely ordered my bastard to burn down Winterfell and take any highborn children he found back to the Dreadfort as hostages. I should warn you that if you prove uncooperative or repeat a word of this, I fear I shall be forced skin both of them."

"No, please, I...I'll be good. I mean...I'll be good, my Lord. I really will, you'll see! I...I didn't mean to call you 'stupid.'"

"Of course you did. Do not lie to me."

"Sorry, my Lord...I mean...wait, how do I know Bran and Rickon are even still alive?"

"You may see them, if you wish. You might as well meet my...children too while you're at it. I should warn you that my bastard has...damaged one of your brothers. I assure you that I did not in any way sanction Lord Snow's treatment of the boy and my bastard has been suitably punished for his foolishness." _Damaged? What does he mean?_

"Come. We shall speak more over dinner; you shall sup with my sons and I."

"I'm not hungry."

"Your brothers will be there too."

"Fine," grumbled Arya, hopping off the bed.

...

Lord Bolton led Arya to the Dreadfort's great hall and they were met by two young men, each with the same pale, blue eyes as the Lord of the Dreadfort. One of them could've easily passed for a twenty year-old Roose Bolton were it not for the fact that he was completely bald. The other man had hair, but he was missing an ear and one of his arms had been badly burned. The burned arm had a stump wrapped in blood-soaked bandages where the hand should've been. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"The three Starklings shall sup with us tonight. Fetch the boys from their cells, Lord Snow," ordered Lord Bolton in a voice so cold that the temperature of the room seemed to drop as he spoke. _Lord Snow? That must be Ramsay, he...he's the one who burned down Winterfell. Roose Bolton. Ramsay Snow. Ilyn Payne. Ser Meryn. The Hound. The Tickler. Dunsen. Polliver. Theon Greyjoy. Valar Morghulis._ The bastard scowled at his father and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Domeric."

"Yes, father?"

"This is Arya Stark of Winterfell; you will wed and bed her before the week is out, is that understood? You may take the girl as often as is necessary to in order to put a baby in her, but under no circumstances will you be permitted to kill her or harm any grandsons she gives you. It will be your right as her Lord husband to discipline her physically if you wish, provided she is not with child and you do so in a place that can be covered by clothing. However, should you prove unable to find an alternative method, I fear you will disappoint me even more than you already have by letting my bastard run roughshod over you during my absence." _He can't mean...he wouldn't...in two days? But I don't want...they're going to make me a Bolton? And I'd have to bare Domeric's children and...and he'd...NO! No. No. No. No. No. No. No._

"But father, she's a bloody child. Look at that...thing; she's terrified. Worse, it would be rude to rape our guest." _Rude? Rude is when you chew with your mouth open. Raping someone is not just rude! What the Seven Hells is wrong with you people?_

"It matters not at all what you want and her happiness is no concern of yours besides," sighed Lord Bolton. "Once you have wed her, she will be your kin and it will not be an act of rape. Now then, both of you will be seated." _WHAT? NO! I...I won't let him! Never!_

"Mayhaps it won't be rude to claim my rights as her husband, but I still don't want –"

"Do you need further adjustments?"

"No, I...I'll do it, father. I won't let you down, I –" _But then I would be a Bolton...and he would be my...and my...and my children, they would...they'd be Boltons too and...and..._

"I fear that ship sailed many years ago. The wedding will be in two days and I expect no complaints when the time comes for you to consummate your marriage. Be grateful that I chose not to require a bedding ceremony and –"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," screamed Arya. "I won't! You...you c-c-can't make me! No! Never! I won't let him! Please, I –"

"You will do as you are told, I think," replied Lord Bolton in a voice as soft as a whisper. Suddenly, the door swung open and Ramsay re-entered the room with two boys trailing behind him.

"Arya? Is that...you're alive! YOU'RE ALIVE," screamed Rickon, racing across the room and hugging his older sister. _Rickon doesn't hate me...not even after what I did at the Twins? I have to get my brothers out of here; we...we can run away. No, Lord Bolton would find us. I have to save them...somehow. I couldn't save mother, father, Jon, or Robb, but I can still save Bran and Rickon,_ Arya realized. The two siblings clung to one another as though both their lives depended on it and for a few seconds, Arya and Rickon Stark were happy.

"I trust you will do as you are bid when the time come."

"Whatever they say, don't do it. He's probably just a stupid walnut-headed bastard who will hurt us no matter what we do...just like the other two. I'm going to kill them all someday and –" Suddenly, the Lord of the Dreadfort grabbed Rickon by the neck, ripped him away from his sister's arms, lifted him in the air, and unsheathed a large hunting knife.

"Why the fuck am I the only one who was given an overcooked piece of meat," snarled Ramsay as he struggled to cut the thick, burnt steak on his plate with one hand. Eventually, the bastard picked up the plate with his remaining hand and threw it at the wall in frustration.

"Is that truly necessary, father," asked Domeric. "At least give the child time to adjust to the situation. We are going to be a family; the girl will realize this soon enough, I think. When she does, Lady Arya will do as she is bid." _I hate him too! This is worse than being forced to marry a stupid Frey. No, it's not quite as bad...not really. At least Domeric doesn't seem to want to hurt me or my brothers. He's weaker than Lord Bolton. Maybe I could trick him into helping my brothers and me escape...maybe. I just...need to find a way to turn him against his stupid father is all._

"I'm not a Lady."

"My apologies, Princess Arya. That is your proper title, is it not?"

"WHAT did you just call me?"

"The two of you will be silent," replied Lord Bolton mildly.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here," sneered Ramsay. "Could it be love at first sight? Look at you, dear brother; already so taken with your child bride-to-be that you'd risk our beloved father's wrath simply to put in a good word for her. I never knew you liked them so young." _No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No._

"Were the decision mine, I can assure you that I'd feed the father-stealing cunt to your dogs. Alas, father has seen fit to force me to take her for a wife and he is always right. That means she will soon be my property and a man must needs take an interest in the treatment of his property, I think. Worse, I fear a man must needs protect his kin so long as they remember their place. And I only kick my dogs when they disrespect me besides. You of all people should know that, bastard."

"If you call me a bastard one more time, I'll tell father how you told me to scalp –"

"Who did Domeric command you to scalp?"

"I FORBID YOU TO SPEAK OF THAT," bellowed Domeric. _Why is he so scared of his stupid father?_ "Arya, sit."

"HEY! For the last time, I'm not you or Lord Bolton's stupid pet," growled Arya.

"That was rude of you. You will apologize immediately," replied Lord Bolton's heir.

"Fuck off, you bald bastard," snapped Rickon.

"NO," shouted Arya, hoping she'd managed to drown out her youngest brother's words.

"What did you just say to me," asked Domeric, tilting his head.

"I believe I already told you all to be silent," seethed Lord Bolton, rubbing his forehead in frustration.

"I said 'I'm not apologizing to you, stupid!'" Before Arya could say another word, Domeric leapt out of his seat and sent her flying out of her chair with a single blow. _I hate him. Him and every other stupid Bolton. I can't make him too angry though, not if I want him to give me and my brothers a chance to escape. He'd never do it on purpose though. Maybe I can trick him into leaving me alone with my brothers before the stupid wedding...maybe. Don't worry mother, I'll save Bran and Rickon...somehow. I really will, you'll see!_

 _Ramsay's worse than Domeric or Lord Bolton. He'd kill me just because I was there if Domeric or Lord Bolton ever gave him permission, most like. Domeric and him don't seem to like each other very much. If I could get them to start fighting...no, that's stupid. Ramsay might kill him and then Lord Bolton would just force me to marry his bastard. At least Domeric doesn't want to rape me...not really. Maybe he'll lie to his father about having done it...maybe._

"Lovers' quarrel," snickered Ramsay with a mischievous grin.

"SHUT UP," Domeric and Arya yelled in unison.

"The brat will soon be more of a Bolton than you, bastard," added Lord Bolton's heir.

"WILL NOT," Ramsay, Rickon, and Arya simultaneously shouted as Roose Bolton ground his teeth and curled both hands into fists.

"Enough. Domeric, you will not strike your betrothed again until after she has given you a son. Is that understood? Consider it motivation to acquire a son in a timely fashion."

"The girl will be my property soon, father. That means I may discipline her in any manner I see fit. And I don't have to put a baby in her until I'm good and –"

"You never cease to disappoint me," Lord Bolton calmly replied as Rickon resumed his futile effort to free himself from the monster's grip. The Lord of the Dreadfort glared at his heir and Domeric's entire body began to tremble. He seemed to grow smaller and smaller until the last drop of courage had left him. Before long, his face was that of a scared, frightened little boy desperately trying not to cry in front of his father.

"Don't worry, Arya; they won't make you a Bolton. I'll kill all three of...kill...I'll k-kill...c-c-can't breathe...help...help me," Rickon wheezed as Lord Bolton slowly tightened his grip. _Seven Hells! Lord Bolton has a knife to your throat and is choking you to death. How am I supposed to save you if you keep saying things like this? I'm very proud of you for being so brave, now please stop talking!_ "I'm going to...go...going to kill...kill every last...last B-B-Bolt-Bolton and..." A few seconds later, all Rickon could do was emit a faint clicking noise from his mouth and his eyes began to slowly roll into the back of his head. _Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Don't you see he's about to kill you?_

"Please, don't hurt him," Arya begged.

"I would prefer that you wed my son willingly and give him a son of your own volition. It is known that a man cannot be a raper if he is simply claiming his rights as a husband. In time, you must needs convincingly state to the remaining Northern Lords that I saved you from the Twins after the late Lord Walder turned Kingslayer and murdered your kin. Of course, I could always skin your brothers while you watch and then have my son rape you until you've given him an heir should you refuse. The choice is yours, I think."

"I...I don't want...I mean –"

"You have until the count of ten to make your choice...if you wish to save your brothers; if you would have me skin them then you may wait as long as you wish to answer. One. Eight. Nine."

"I...I'll do it...I'll do whatever you say, only...please don't hurt them. I...I'll marry your stupid son. I'll be good, just don't hurt my brothers. I c-can't lose them too, I...your son, I'll let him...let him...NO! I don't want to do it! Please, I...just don't kill him." Lord Bolton dropped Rickon on the floor and the boy scurried over to his sister, hiding behind her chair.

"It matters not at all what you want. I was going to kill one of your brothers as soon as you woke up, but instead I provided you with an opportunity to demonstrate to me that you already possessed an adequate understanding your present circumstances. I fear that if you insist upon repaying my generosity by wasting my time with such outbursts then I will be forced to make an example of your brother RIckon after all." _Your generosity? GENEROSITY? What the Seven Hells is wrong with you?_

"NO! I mean, you don't have to...have to do that, my L-L-Lord. It's just...please don't make me do this...you can't...I mean...you were supposed...supposed to be my f-f-friend. I hate you! You and your stupid children! I'm going to...going to k-kill all of you someday...I'm going to...going to...I hate you! I mean...I'm s-s-sorry, my L-Lord. I didn't...I mean, please don't hurt Rickon. I won't say that ever again. I really won't; you'll see! Bran and him are the only ones left who –" _I should have killed Lord Bolton with Vengeance when I had the chance! Maybe if I can't get at least one of my brothers to somewhere safe then mother will forgive me for not believing her...maybe. I can't let them kill me; I have to save what's left of my family. Aunt Lysa would never hurt Sansa; at least one of us safe._

"I know what we need all need," declared Ramsay with a cruel and hungry look not unlike the one which oft sat upon Lord Vargo's stupid face. "What we need are some games to make our new friend feel more at home. Tell me, little girl, have you ever gone hunting?" Domeric jammed his finger into the hole on the earless side of Ramsay's head – re-opening the wound in the process – and Lord Snow fell to the ground, howling in pain.

"You will not hunt my betrothed, bastard. The girl may be a spiteful, ungrateful father-stealing cunt, but father says she is to be the mother of my children. She is mine to punish as I see fit. Look at you, you're little more than a rabid dog in need of a shorter leash. Mayhaps I should permit the Starklings to discipline you as well," sneered Domeric, standing up and kicking his half-brother in the stomach. _Stupid bastard. Maybe Domeric will let me whip him...maybe._ Arya found that despite her best efforts, she couldn't help laughing at the weeping monster...until she realized that he was looking directly at her rather than his brother.

Lord Snow's pale, blue eyes burned with a hatred unlike anything Arya had ever seen before. For a moment, she was certain that he was about to leap to his feet and strangle her to death. _That was stupid. He would've been angry at Domeric if I didn't point at him, but now he's going to try to hurt me somehow. Lord Bolton used to look at people that way when he was about to give them to Qyburn._ Arya shuddered. "NO! Don't you dare throw that potato at him!" _Seven Hells! Are you trying to get us all killed, Rickon?_

"You haven't seen your other brother have you," asked Ramsay as he picked himself up off the floor. "He needed adjustments and...well...I suppose he isn't really your brother anymore, is he?" _BRAN! I forgot about...what did they do to him?_

"As I recall, those adjustments forced me to make an adjustment to you as well," added Lord Bolton, glancing at the bastard's bloody stump.

"Rickon, is Bran still alive? What did they –"

"The bastard made him not our brother anymore, Arya."

"WHAT DID YOU CALL ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

"He hates being called a bastard more than anything else in the world," said Rickon with an overly dramatic yawn, plainly doing his best to make a show out of ignoring the monster's anger. Lord Bolton began stabbing the table with one of his knives although it was impossible to say who he was fantasizing about killing. Everyone else in the room, most like.

"If you say that word one more time, I'll –"

"Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard," the two Starklings chanted in unison. Ramsay charged at them, his eyes filled with murderous rage...only to be tripped by his half-brother and fall flat on his face.

"DOMERIC, YOU TREASONOUS FUCK! IF YOU DON'T STOP SIDING WITH THOSE CUM STAINS, I'M GOING TO...I mean...please forgive my outburst. Dear...d-dear f-f-fath-father, I...I seem to have lost...lost my temper. I have something that I would like so very much to show our guest. Reek, come over here."

"Yes, master," whimpered Bran. As the boy approached Arya, she realized that he had been badly mutilated and was missing fingers, toes, teeth, and an ear. Bran walked with a pronounced limp and refused to look at either of his siblings.

"Bran? Bran, it's me. Don't worry, I...I'm here now and I'll protect you...somehow. Bran? Say something," sobbed Arya.

"N-n-no! Not...not B-B-Bran! I am R-Reek! I am good and...and...and l-loyal, Reek! She c-can't fool me, m-m-master!"

"What...what did you do to him? Lord Bolton said if I –"

"I can promise you that I was every bit as surprised by this display as you are," seethed the Lord of the Dreadfort. "I would never have put a stop to this madness immediately had I known about it. Both of my...children shall answer for this. I fear this is what comes of leaving a weak, soft-head little boy to do a man's job," sighed Lord Bolton, glaring at his heir.

"It wasn't me, father! Ramsay did it! I swear! I...I...I wasn't at the Dreadfort when it happened...I mean...tried to stop him, but by then it was too late. Please, I was good. You...you don't need to make any adjustments, I –" _Why is Domeric so afraid of making Lord Bolton angry? What happened to him? It...it doesn't matter. Bran has to be in there somewhere._

"You cheese-eating rat! I didn't tell father about how you told me to scalp Howland Reed's cunt of a daughter even after father ordered us to keep her alive."

"Yes, yes, yes, there will be plenty of time to tell father about that later, but I am quite certain now is not the time."

"You deliberately disobeyed me, Domeric?"

"I...umm...it's actually a funny story..."

"No doubt. I am eager to hear it. You will tell me all about it in the dungeons after the meal has concluded, I think. Once you have done so, I shall determine a suitable punishment."

"Please don't hurt me," whimpered Domeric.

"How could father have ever chosen you to be his heir?"

"I fear that you were the only alternative. Tell me, why did you carry out an order that –"

"I killed the bitch because I felt like it. What are you going to do, cut off one of my hands...oh wait...you already did. Who gives a fuck anyway? You worry too much father; look at all the fun we're having!" The Lord of the Dreadfort studied his bastard in much the same way that a lizard lion might watch its prey slowly approach a riverbank.

"Don't kill my dog, father! He didn't mean –"

"What did you call me?" _Why does Domeric keep acting like everyone else is his stupid pet?_

"You will be silent, " snapped Lord Bolton. "Please continue, Lord Ramsay. We are all very anxious to hear more about this...creature of yours. And don't hesitate to share any other insights you may have into whether or not you need obey me." _The only time he's ever sounded this angry before was when Lord Walder threatened to let Black Walder rape me...  
_  
"Bran, please...don't do this!"

"Bran is an imaginary voice who makes me act bad in front of master. You must not be real either."

"Please, I –"

"He doesn't know who we are anymore, Arya," Rickon mumbled.

"N-Not Bran, Reek! Good and loyal, Reek! I...I...I don't believe her!"

"It's me, your sister. I know you still remember who you are and...and...please don't do this; I won't give up on you. Never!"

"I...I don't have any sisters," moaned Bran in a flat, emotionless voice that made him sound as though he'd died many years ago. "I have no brothers. I have no parents. There are no...n-n-no St-Starks. There are no Bol-B-B-Boltons. There is only master. I...I live to serve master. Master is life. Without master there is nothing. I am nothing without him. A Reek...a Reek needs its master and a m-m-master needs its R-Reek. I...I love master and –"

"Yes, yes, yes, very good, Reek. You see, father? Brandon Stark was a threat, but Reek...well...Reek will never betray us. And I can use him to make the Stark bitch cry over her dead family any time I want. It should help the cunt remember her place. I realize that you reacted rather...poorly to Reek when you first saw that I'd made him, but surely you've never seen anything half as satisfying as that loud-mouthed bitch crying over her dead family. Poor widdle Arya. Your daddy got his head chopped off by the Lannisters, your bitch mother and man-whore of a brother got killed at your useless uncle's wedding, your treasonous aunt took some whore...I mean...your sister hostage, I turned one of your brothers into my Reek, and I have a feeling that dear little Rickon won't be with us much longer once you've given my brother a son...assuming he knows the proper procedure. Hard to say with him, to tell you the truth." _I am going to kill you! I...I don't care if they kill me! I'm not going to escape with Bran and Rickon. I'll just save them and then stay behind at the Dreadfort to kill you. And then when you're dead, I'll keep killing you over and over again. Stupid bastard. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!_

"BURN IN HELL," screamed Arya, charging at the bastard only to be sent crashing to the ground with a swift blow to the stomach.

"I told you that the girl is mine to punish and –"

"Blow it out your ass, you self-righteous prick," barked Ramsay.

"Domeric."

"Yes, father?"

"Escort Lord Snow and the three Starklings to the dungeons. I shall join you momentarily. When I arrive, I expect to find Ramsay chained to a wall without his britches. I fear I only saw Qyburn cut open male genitalia once, but my bastard's latest display has given me a sudden urge to try something new." The bastard's face turned as pale as warm milk and he fell to his knees.

"Father, please...you can't...you can't unman me," sobbed the blue-eyed monster. "Please, I –"

"I'm not going to unman you, bastard. If I did, you wouldn't be able to breed. Of course, you don't need the foreskin to get a woman with child. You don't need any of your burnt arm either. If you try to run or fight, I shall be forced to take your stones as well. Do you understand," asked Lord Bolton, putting away his hunting knife and unsheathing a small flaying knife with a hooked blade.

"Yes, father," whimpered Ramsay. Suddenly, Bran began flailing about wildly.

"Bran not Reek! Reek! Go away, Reek! Bran! NOT REEK! Master, will hear you. Shut up! But master needs us! Go away, I want to see our sister! I mean...I want to see my sister! We have no sister; only Ramsay. I said go away or...or I'll...I'll..." The broken boy collapsed and was knocked unconscious the moment his head hit the stone floor. Arya and Rickon raced to their brother's side and began shaking him, but it was no use. _He won't wake up for at least an hour,_ Arya realized. _I...I promise that I'll get you out of this place...somehow. I don't care what happens to me, I just...I just have to save Bran and Rickon._


	29. Sansa II

**Sansa**

"Lord Baelish, won't -"

"What have I told you about calling me that, sweetling?" _Why do I have to call you 'father' when there's no one else in the room? It...it feels wrong. Everything about the this horrid place feels wrong; it's all so dreadful. I am a Stark of Winterfell and I already have a father...even if Joffrey took off his head._

She didn't notice it at first, but it had slowly become clear to Sansa that there was something very wrong about the way people treated her in the Eyrie. Sometimes it was just a word, like when Petyr said she needed to always refer to him as "father." Sometimes it was a look...like the sad, guilty one Ser Lothor Brune oft gave her. And then there was the way that her aunt's eyes always seemed to be watching her every move. Sansa didn't know what any of it meant; but she did know that with a single look, Lady Lysa could frighten her almost as much as Joffrey and Lord Florent did. And that was before the Lady of the Eyrie insisted that a large painting of a bloodshot eyeball be hung from each of the walls in Sansa's chambers...

Even so, Sansa was still grateful to Lord Baelish and her aunt Lysa for saving her from Lord Axell, and there were perfectly logical explanations for how everyone behaved besides. _Most of the Vale Lords don't even know what I look like and no one will remember anything about me in King's Landing except for my name, but if that ever changes, I won't be safe in the Eyrie anymore and there are spies here just like there were in the capitol, most like. Lord Baelish is just trying to protect me because he loved mother; that's why he was already using Ser Dontos to make sure he'd be able to smuggle me out of the capitol if the Lannisters won the Battle of the Blackwater. Ser Lothor just feels sorry for me because of how much I've suffered since I left Winterfell with father. Robin and his mother are very...strange, but they'd never hurt me. Aunt Lysa even said she was letting me stay here for the sake of someone she loved dearly. She was talking about mother, most like. I...I wasn't kidnapped and I'm not a hostage either, I'm here for my own protection just like Lord Baelish said,_ Sansa told herself just as she had so many other times since arriving at the Eyrie. Deep down, the eldest Starkling knew that these thoughts were simply the latest in a long line of lies – most of which would've been a cold comfort even if they were true – that Sansa wanted so very much to believe...even as she knew they were no truer than the summer songs she would oft sing before she learned that she was nothing more than a stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learned her lesson...until now. _There are no songs or heroes...only the monsters are real. Lord Baelish was right; life is not a song, it's a nightmare._

"Forgive me, father. I only meant...I mean –"

"There's nothing to forgive, Alayne. Now be a good girl and give your father a kiss," replied Lord Baelish, motioning for his niece to approach his chair. Although the Lord Protector of the Vale spoke softly and wore a gentle smile, the hunger in his eyes betrayed him and even though she knew he would never hurt her, it always frightened Sansa when she felt his cold and calculating eyes creeping over every inch of her body. It reminded the eldest Starkling of the way that Lord Axell would oft look at her and she hated it.

 _What does he want? He's is too old to be lusting after me. Lord Axell was old too, but Lord Baelish is already married to aunt Lysa. He loved my mother, not me...and I...I'm his niece besides. He...he even said it was important to always pretend I was his bastard daughter, especially when no one else was in the room. Lord Baelish always said the spies are listening most carefully when one or two people are alone in a room. That has to be it. Lord Baelish hates this just as much as I do,_ Sansa decided.

It was a lie, but she had to tell herself something. Whatever the truth about her uncle was, the eldest Starkling had no doubt it would be something dreadful. The truth was never a song and if it sounded like one, that only meant it was just another lie. Sansa gave her uncle a quick peck on the cheek and prayed that would be the end of it, but it never was...

"Must we go through this every time I ask my own daughter for even a tiny kiss? You must needs kiss me on the lips and for more than half a second, else some little bird making its nest within these walls might convince itself that you're not my daughter or some such non-sense. You wound me Alyane; have I ever been less than a loving father? Mistreated you in any way?"

"No, my...I mean...no, father. It's almost as though the Seven sent you to watch over me the moment that you decided acknowledge me as your daughter. You've been so very kind to me." _Mayhaps not too kind, but certainly far too familiar..._

"Good. You have no idea how much it pleases me to here that, Alyane. Now come show your father how much you love him, sweetling."

"Yes, father," Sansa glumly replied. With a quiet sigh, she gently kissed Lord Baelish on the lips. For ten agonizing seconds, Sansa managed to force herself not to throw up all over her uncle's face before pulling away. The eldest Starkling did her best to hide her true feelings, but her face betrayed her and she winced in disgust for at least half a second.

"You look ill; is something wrong?" _Yes, everything is all wrong; I hate this dreadful place! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! Why couldn't I just pretend to be a servant instead of your stupid bastard? I'm nothing like Arya or Shae; I know how to cook, clean, and brush a Lady's hair. A Stark of Winterfell shouldn't have to change bedsheets or wash their own clothes; that's what the smallfolk are for, but not even emptying someone else's chamber pot could possibly be worse than having to kiss Lord Baelish like that whenever we're alone in his solar._

The worst part was that it could've easily been avoided this time since the only reason that Sansa had even gone to talk to her uncle was to ask if there had been anymore ravens from the Deadfort – or whatever that dreadful place was called – mentioning her sister. Naturally, there were no messages...not that Lord Baelish seemed to care. It was stupid of me to even ask; the Boltons sent a raven to any number of Lords informing them of his son's betrothal, most like. That doesn't mean there's any reason to think he'll send another one to Lord Baelish or anyone else. And if he did, it would be to some other Northern Lord besides. Sansa cared her younger sister and yet – as was oft the case, particularly after the eldest Starkling's first few days in the Eyrie – her thoughts inevitably took a darker turn. She knew that she was supposed to love her family no matter what, yet Arya had a way of making it difficult...even if she wasn't actually in the Eyrie. The feral child had things – cold comforts mayhaps, but comforts all the same – that she plainly didn't deserve and there were times when Sansa couldn't help resenting her for it.

 _I always did what I was supposed to and minded my parents at Winterfell. I behaved like a proper Southron Lady. Even when I was just a little girl, everyone would always say that I had better table manners than most people they knew. And I never embarrassed our House by mouthing off in front of father's guests or naming my direwolf after some evil old witch, unlike a certain spoiled brat I know... I was the good one! And I never asked about matters that ought not to concern a Lady either. I didn't ask Lord Baelish what he was talking about yesterday when he said the Sparrows were growing restless in King's Landing, whatever that means. Arya would've bothered him until he either explained what he meant or threw her throw the moon door, most like._

 _It's not fair that Arya gets to die in Winterfell while I'm stuck kissing my own uncle, watching my aunt breastfeed her ten year-old son in this dreadful place,_ Sansa silently seethed. _Why should she get to see mother and Robb again when I never will? It wouldn't be so bad if I got to see them again too, but she doesn't deserve to be the only one who got to spend time with them before they died. And why should she be the one who got to be waited on by all the other ladies in Robb's court, go on pleasant walks with mother, and spend her days gossiping with her handmaidens about which Lord's gallant son Robb would choose to be her husband. That was supposed to be my life and my stupid brat of a sister stole that from me._

 _The worst part is that Arya never appreciated any of this, most like. She probably hated being called 'Princess Arya.' It's an honor, not a form of torture, you horse-faced brat! I hate that horrid little...I...I hate her! I hate her! I hate her! She stole my life from me and she doesn't even deserve any of it. We could've been friends and I'd have taught her how to be a proper Lady. Everyone would've like her...not as much as they liked me, but they'd still like her. I wish she'd never been born and...and I...I mean..._

The eldest Stark felt sudden pang of guilt and looked down at the ground in shame. _It's not her fault; she can't help acting like such a brat all the time. It's just how she was born, most like. And Aunt Lysa said it's unbecoming for a Lady to envy those beneath her besides._ Even if Lady Lysa was a bit...strange, she'd given her niece good advice when the eldest Starkling spoke to her about this matter and asked if she'd ever felt that way about a sibling before: "Leave jealousy to the smallfolk. Someday we'll both get exactly what we deserve." For a moment, Sansa thought she'd found a kindred spirit in her aunt...then Lady Lysa began screaming at her and demanding she stay away from her family, whatever that meant.

 _I'm sure Arya didn't want this to happen any more than I did. The Boltons are going to force her to marry into their family and give one of those monsters a son; Lord Baelish said they'd kill her as soon as she did that. At least no one in the Eyrie would ever actually try to hurt me. And Arya probably had to watch them kill mother and Robb besides. The poor girl must be so very frightened. I can't believe I actually wished...no, that was...it's just the Eyrie,_ Sansa decided. The stupid place seemed to have a way of loosening everyone's grip on reality.

"Alyane? Can you hear me? Are you alright," asked Lord Baelish, frowning.

"No, I...I mean...I just..."

"Yes?"

"It's nothing, father."

"Do you remember what I once told you about the liars in King's Landing? I can assure you that the ones in the Eyrie are also better than you, Alayne. Have I ever given you cause to lie to me?" _Everyone else in my House is dead except for Arya and the Boltons will kill her as soon as she has a son. Even if you'd never hurt me, you'll never be a Stark either and that's the only reason I need not to trust you._

Someone with more courage than sense – someone like Arya or baby Rickon – might have answered her uncle's question honestly, but Sansa hadn't survived King's Landing by running her mouth like a foolish child. It wasn't enough to simply hold your tongue or even lie; you had to know which lie the other person wanted to hear and then tell it the way that they wanted to hear it told.

In truth, not everyone in King's Landing had been cruel to Sansa. There was Ser Dontos, but he was only saying Lord Baelish's words. Lord Tyrion seemed to hate the way Joffrey treated her, but he was still a Lannister and that meant he was just as dangerous as Joffrey and the Queen. Lord Davos oft tried to protect her from Lord Axell, but he served King Stannis and Stannis Baratheon burned children alive while their mothers screamed for mercy.

"No, of course not. I'm so very grateful for everything you've done for me, father. I know that if mother were still alive, she'd feel the same way. It's just...what happened at the Twins...I miss them and I just...I just..." Sansa let a single tear fall from her left eye and roll all the way down her cheek. _The best lies are the ones mixed with the truth, Lord Baelish said so himself._

"Shhhhh. I understand, sweetling," whispered Lord Baelish, rising from his seat and wrapping his arms around his niece. _How could you possibly understand?_

"You do?"

"Of course, I understand. You know that your mother is the only woman I have ever loved; I was devastated when I learned of her death. I suppose I can even see how you might consider what happened to your brother and sister to be rather...unfortunate. I fear that the world is full of such injustices; you know this better than most. Your brother is dead and your sister will surely be dead before long, but there is nothing either of us can do to change that. The only thing we can do now is wait until the time is right to take revenge on those responsible. I promise you that by this time next year, the animals who butchered your mother will all be dead. Every man who took part in the Red Wedding will meet the same fate that your kin did on that wretched day. Do you understand," asked Lord Baelish, releasing his niece. In truth, Sansa had found some small measure of comfort in her uncle's words and she nodded, allowing herself a small smile.

"Good. Now then, my wife and I have something we must needs discuss with you."

...

"I don't see why she has to live here, Petyr," growled the Lady of the Eyrie. Each word dripped with even more venom than the last and Lady Lysa's eyes burned with jealous rage as she glared at her eldest niece. For the first time, Sansa truly realized just how much danger her uncle had place her in by bringing her to the Eyrie. _Aunt Lysa truly wants to kill me. What did I ever do to her? She was strange, but we could've been friends if she wasn't always breastfeeding Robin._

"Lysa, we've been over this before; you know how much this means to me."

"Oh yes, we've been over it before. You feel a responsibility to protect at least one of my...precious...wonderful...NIECES. She looks so very much, like her mother, doesn't she?"

"No, not particularly. At least, I never thought so, but I believe you had something you wanted to tell Lady Alyane." _Seven Hells, how many times can she breastfeed that little creep in a single day._

"Please, don't make me do it. She'll get her claws in him and steal my poor, innocent Robin away. And then she'll steal –"

"MOTHER, I WANT MORE," screamed Robin as he tugged at his mother's left breast.

"You're quite right, Robin. We must do what is...what is best for my Petyr, yes?"

"Aunt Lysa, I don't think that's what he –"

"Shut up, you hateful little bitch," screeched Lysa. "You may have fooled my Petyr, but you can't fool me! I know what you are, oh yes. My Petyr is a sweet, trusting man, but I'm not so naive. You'll act the saintly virgin now, but soon you'll come for everyone I love and take them from me. You're just like your mother, do you know that? She was always trying to steal my Petyr from me and Cat...she...she put father up to stealing my son and sending him away," sobbed Lysa.

"No, I'd never...wait...what are you even talking about," asked Sansa.

"She can't have my son; I won't allow it! Please, Petyr, don't –"

"Lysa, that's quite enough. Don't you know how important this is to me?"

"No one wants to steal Robin from you; please, you have to believe me." Sansa glanced at her uncle and silently pled for help, but he plainly had no intention of saying as little as he could get away with and not a single word more. _Coward._

"You don't...you really don't want to steal him, do you?"

"No, of course I don't. I'd never try to take him away from you, I swear!"

"And...and you hate your sister?"

"I don't hate Arya...not really, but her behavior was oft absolutely horrid. She was extremely frustrating, but I don't hate –"

"Of course, you hate her. You can always be honest with me child, I know what it's like..." Sansa wanted to ask what her aunt meant by that, but she held her tongue. Some wounds were plainly best left unopened and her aunt was plainly trying to be kind to her besides. _Something horrible must've happened to Aunt Lysa to make her act the way she does, but maybe she's not so bad after all. Deep down, she's just a frightened little girl who has surrounded herself with walls to keep from being hurt again. Maybe...maybe I can even help her. This place wouldn't be half so dreadful if there was someone even remotely normal to talk to,_ Sansa decided.

"Aunt Lysa, I –"

"I...I always wanted a daughter; I was supposed to have one, but my father... You won't steal her; I was wrong to judge you by your appearance. You're nothing like that twisted gargoyle, are you? You really won't take him away from me? Not even if he asks you to?" _She's probably afraid Robin will fancy me and stop following her around. I'm probably the first young woman he's ever seen. If something terrible happened to another child of hers once...he must've been all that she had for so long. She's just afraid of losing him, most like...not that she has anything to worry about._

"I promise I won't take him away from you, Aunt Lysa."

"Then we...we can be friends? I know this may come as a great shock to you, Sansa, but I was not always the sweet, timid, nubile, and well-mannered Lady you see before you today. There was a time when everyone ignored me except when they wanted to tell me what a beautiful, perfect little Lady your stupid mother was; Cat always tried to be nice to me, but that only made it worse. She couldn't even act like a spoiled brat; at least that way, I could hate her without feeling guilty. Of course, she stole that from me; just like she tried to steal everything else I loved without even realizing what she was doing. Petyr was the only friend I had back then; everyone else was too busy praising your mother to notice me and even he asked for her hand in marriage rather than mine when we were young. I always loved your mother, but I'll never forgive her for stealing my life from me. Don't worry though, I had the last laugh in the end. I'm the one who got to marry Petyr. I'm sure you'll get exactly what you deserve too and someday you'll be just like me." Sansa forced herself not to laugh for her aunt's sake while Lord Baelish looked as though he couldn't decide whether he was relieved, terrified, confused, or having some sort of bizarre dream. _Is everyone in the Eyrie insane? At least she's not looking at me like she wants to throw me through the moon door anymore..._

"I...umm...I mean...I would like that very much, Aunt –"

"MOTHER, I'M STILL HUNGRY!"

"Not now, Robin, your cousin is talking. No, don't cry...umm...why don't you go play with your father."

"If uncle Petyr is my father, does that mean he can feed me too?"

"NO!"

"Then I don't want to go with him."

"Fine, now let your cousin finish speaking, Robin. This is all so wonderful; we shall be the very best of friends, you and I. I shall think of you as the daughter I should have had. Now then, what is it that you were saying, dear?" Lord Baelish grew pale and staggered backwards, as though his wife's words had caused some sort of deeply unpleasant realization.

"I was just saying that I would like us to be friends too; that would be very nice. And I really meant what I said, I'd never try to take Robin away from you."

"What...did you...just...SAY? I trusted you and...and...you really are just like your mother, aren't you? I wasn't talking about Robin, idiot. My Robin is far too clever to let a common whore like you wrap him around your finger. You're going to try to steal my Petyr from me, aren't you? Don't bother denying it! I know what you are now; I can't believe I almost let myself believe your lies! What does mother always say, Robin?"

"I...want...to...eat...NOW!"

"That's right, we can't trust anyone except for ourselves and my Petyr."

"Fell for what? I'm not trying to steal your husband; and he doesn't even love me, he loves –"

"Your mother, that's what you were about to say? Did she send you to turn him against me? ANSWER ME, you monster!"

"Lysa, that's enough."

"No, it isn't, Petyr. I want you to see what this empty-headed child is trying to do to us. She's just like her mother; she'll never love you. Seven Hells, she even looks just like Cat did at her age. That's why you wanted her here, isn't it? I am the only person who will ever love you. I've lied for you, I've killed for –" _Killed?_

"Yes, I know. Lysa, why must you wound me like this? Do you really think so little of me?"

"What? No, I...I think the world of you; you are my world. My sky, my moon, my sun, my stars, and my –"

"MOTHER, I'M STILL HUNGRY! Are the food sacks full again?"

"Don't you know that you are the only woman I have ever loved...the only one I could ever love. I wish I could believe that you felt the same way..."

"No, wait...I...I'll prove it to you, I...Sansa will marry Robin. I won't utter a word of protest." _WHAT?_

"But mother, she has girl germs," whined Robin. _No. No. No. No. No. No. Please, not him. Anyone but him! It's not fair; why do I always get betrothed to crazy people? First Joffrey, then Lord Axell, and now Robin. At least they never seem to end up actually marrying me..._


	30. Arya XI

**Arya**

The knock on the door was so loud that Arya nearly fell out of bed in surprise. *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"I'm awake; now go away!" The reply – from Roose or Domeric, most like – was too quiet for Arya to make out a single word...not that she cared. *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"I can't hear you; knock once if you're Domeric. Knock twice if you're Lord Bolton." *KNOCK*

"The door isn't locked, but even if it was; we both know that I still couldn't open it. This stupid chain is too short to reach the door and you have the key besides." Arya had asked Lord Bolton if she could sleep in one of the guest chambers rather than on the floor of his eldest son's room and much to her surprise both Domeric and Lord Bolton allowed it. By the time Domeric brought her to the room, the Lone Wolf was already in the midst of planning her family's escape...until Lord Bolton's heir pinned her to the ground and chained her to one of the walls by her left leg. He didn't even bother locking the door. Instead, Domeric smugly informed Arya that if she wished to leave, she need only get up and walk right out of the Dreadfort. *KOCK* *KNOCK*

"What do you want? This is stupid and you never even locked the door besides." *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"GO AWAY! I HATE YOU!" *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"STOP DOING THAT!" *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"AAAAAARRRRRGGGHH!" *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"Either go away or come in and tell me what you want, but stop knocking on the stupid door." The door swung open and Domeric calmly entered the room looking as though he wanted to strangle the grumpy, frustrated child he'd chained to the wall the previous evening.

"Good morning. It took you exactly two minutes and 32 seconds to give me permission to open the door. Worse, I believe I said 'good morning' only to be met with silence. Are you going to respond to my greeting in kind or do you mean to force me to flay little Rickon until your manners improve?"

"Good morning," Arya growled.

"You are being rather rude, I think. This will not serve."

"EXCUSE ME? I'M BEING RUDE? You just threatened to flay my brother because I didn't say 'good morning.' That's worse a lot worse than 'being rude!'"

"Nothing is worse than rudeness."

"Shut up!"

"In truth, I never said 'excuse me' before interrupting your childish babble. I fear your response is entirely understandable."

"What are you talking about? Actually, I don't care what you have to say," replied Arya, sticking her tongue out at Lord Bolton's eldest son.

"That wasn't very lady-like..."

"I'm not a stupid Lady...I mean...you were loudly knocking on my stupid door even though you knew I was sleeping. How is that not rude? And you won't let stop bothering me even after I asked you to...wait...why am I even arguing with you about this? Get out of my stupid room! I hate you!"

"We're talking, not arguing. And 'hate' is a very strong word besides. 'I strongly dislike you' would be far more polite, I think."

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"In truth, I fear I must concede to you on at least one matter. I apologize for repeatedly knocking on your door when you were sleeping. Once would've been sufficient, I think. In truth, I would hate someone behaved so rudely toward me too. I fear that your reaction is entirely understandable."

"That is not the reason I hate you, stupid."

"You accept my apology? Good, I'm glad we understand each other."

"Wait...that's not what I meant!"

"It matters not at all what you think about this...or anything else, for that matter. I merely assigned to your words the meaning that I wished to derive from them. More importantly, you are learning proper manners. You said 'excuse me' before you interrupted me; I am pleased to see that you share my distaste for improper manners."

"I don't care about having proper...never-mind," grumbled Arya.

"You're ready for breakfast? I quite agree."

"I'm not hungry; so leave me alone and get out of my stupid room. I hate you!"

"You want me to chain you to the wall of Ramsay's room tonight, give him the only key, and lock the door from the outside? I might fear for my safety under those circumstances were I you, but if you continue to insist then I fear I shall be forced to comply despite my own misgivings." _Ramsay? But...he can't! Lord Bolton wouldn't let him to that to me...would he? Ramsay, he...he could be like Lord Vargo. He'll kill me or he...he might...he might try to rape...he might... No. No. No. No. No. No. No._ _No._

"NO! Please, I...I...umm...I'm really hungry right now! Is it breakfast time yet? Can you please unchain me so we can get breakfast?"

"Hmm...you make a good point, I suppose. In truth, you shouldn't be sleeping in your own room this close to our...wedding," Domeric face contorted in disgust and it was plain that he hated the idea near as much as Arya did. "You don't want to sleep on the floor of my room and I will not suffer your presence in my bed for one second longer than father requires me to; but it would seem Lord Snow's floor will not serve either. I fear the only other option is to let you sleep in the kennel with Lord Snow's dogs. Don't worry, they already ate some young woman two days ago so they won't go after a scrawny thing like you, most like. Well...mayhaps they will, but father did say you were a very...brave...CHILD," screeched Domeric. The bald, pale-eyed man began punching the wall after he said that, but the Lone Wolf had better things to do than wonder why Domeric was acting like a half-wit.

"Lord Bolton, he...he really said that about me? Are you sure," Arya asked nervously. Suddenly, she forgot all about Domeric's threats...this was plainly a far more important matter. _Why would Lord Bolton try to trick Domeric into thinking he thinks I'm brave? Unless... No! Everything he said was all just one big Bolton lie; it had to be! How could someone who really felt the way Lord Bolton said he did still do the things he's done to me? That doesn't make any sense._

"I wish it were a lie, but I fear he meant every word of it. Father never said I was brave...not even once," grumbled Domeric. _No. No. No. No. NOT AGAIN! NO! NO! NO! I hate him and I'm going to kill him someday just...just not yet is all. I'll kill him though! Lord Bolton, he...I thought he was my friend, but he wasn't...not really. I thought he was the only person who would always care about me no matter what and he turned me against my mother when she tried to warn me. Mother was the one who really loved me, not Lord Bolton. I could have saved her if I had listened; I could have... I'm the one who deserved to die, not mother and Robb._ Arya bit her lip.

 _It couldn't have all been a lie though...not really. No, that's stupid. I hate Lord Bolton! He shouldn't have killed my mother!_ Arya hated Lord Bolton near as much as she hated Lord Vargo and Joffrey, but she also knew that a small part of her – a part that never seemed to disappear completely, no matter how deep she buried it – would always want to believe that he cared about her at least a little bit. She knew it wasn't true and usually it was easy to ignore, but every once in a while Arya couldn't keep this part of herself from emerging from its exile in whatever distant corner of her mind she'd confined it to...although the feeling seldom lasted very long. Arya didn't hate Lord Bolton any less in those moments though...not really. It just...made her feelings about him more complicated sometimes was all.

"Lord Bolton, he...I knew it couldn't all be a lie. I mean...I...I don't care if it was a stupid lie or not. I just...you're sure he wasn't lying? Lord Bolton really thinks I'm brave? Maybe some of the other things...maybe they could've been true too...maybe,'" Arya whispered to no one in particular. She was still looking at Domeric, but couldn't see him anymore...not really. For a few seconds, Arya found herself unable to do anything except stare blankly as she tried to remember how she was supposed to feel. Whatever Domeric was getting so upset about seemed to be having the same effect on him.

Something similar happened to Arya whenever Lord Bolton mussed her hair: part of her wanted to rip his stupid arm off and beat him to death with it whenever he did that, but part of her – the bad part...one that filled the Lone Wolf with shame – wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life grinning like an idiot and letting Lord Bolton do one of the few things that reminded her of what it was like to have a pack...even if the Lord of the Dreadfort was among those most responsible for stealing it from her.

Arya never did that though; lying to yourself was for people like Sansa and Jeyne who were to scared to see things the way they really were. Arya didn't want to be like either of them, she knew that much. The last time the Lone Wolf let her guard down and convinced herself that she might actually be able to be happy some day despite everything that had happened, it got her mother and brother killed. _I am not afraid. I am a direwolf. And I am a Stark of Winterfell besides. I always will be no matter who Lord Bolton tries to force me to marry._

"You're asking a lot of questions for someone who doesn't care how my father feels," muttered Domeric; his pale, blue eyes were as cold as ice when he spoke. _Stop looking at me like that!_ Arya shuddered.

"I...I mean...I don't care what Lord Bolton thinks about me! I really don't! I hate him! Him and his stupid Dreadfort. I hate him and I always will! He shouldn't have killed my mother! I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! I don't care what he thinks about me...I mean...he...he didn't say anything else about me did he? Were there any other good things? I mean...I don't care, I really don't! I just..." In that moment, the Lone Wolf felt as though her sad, grey eyes saw everything and nothing all at once. Arya knew that whether Lord Bolton was lying didn't matter anymore...not really, but that knowledge did nothing to diminish her need for an answer. Any answer would do so long as she could make herself believe it. _I'm going to kill Lord Bolton and his stupid sons someday; I'll save Bran and Rickon too. Mother will forgive me if I do that; I know she will! I just...need to find out how much of what Lord Bolton said was a lie is all. Did he ever really care about me? And why would he kill my mother if he did? I...I just...I need to know,_ Arya silently insisted as though repeating the words in her head would somehow make them sound more reasonable. _If I kill him now then I might never find out... I'll make him tell me...somehow...and when I do, I'll kill the Boltons, every one._ Domeric studied Arya for a moment and looked as though he were trying to decide whether he wanted to help her escape or crush her head with his bare hands. In the end, he did neither.

"My father does seem to have that effect on children, doesn't he?" For once, Arya felt too tired to argue so she nodded even though she knew Domeric didn't care what she thought. "Father wrote...wrote all sorts of...he wrote that if I were more like...more like you; he might've had a s-s-son he could take some...some small measure of pride in." Domeric's voice began to crack as he spoke and his fits shook with anger, but Arya didn't care. The mix of excitement, anger, pride, and self-loathing was making everything far too confusing and she couldn't decide whether to be happy or horrified that Lord Bolton plainly saw something in her that he respected.

"It doesn't matter; I...I don't care what he thinks...not really. I don't want to know what he thinks about me ever again; I really don't! I hate him and I'm going to kill him someday for what he did to my mother."

"Did you just say you were going to kill my father for what he did to your mother?"

"I'm going to kill him and there's nothing you can do to stop me either."

"Is that so? In truth, I understand your hatred of him, which is why I can tell you that you will never be able to bring yourself to hurt him. In time, you'll come to love father as I do. Everything he does is for the best...we...we just need adjustments. Everyone does! Father always knows best and a man shouldn't cry besides."

"I don't under...it doesn't matter; I don't care what you think!"

"Just like you don't care what my father thinks of you?"

"Shut up! If my brother Robb were still alive, he'd kill you and your stupid family."

"No doubt. And if things were different, they wouldn't be the same. It matters not at all."

"AAAARRRRGGGHHH! I said 'shut up,' you stupid...stupidhead!"

"I will overlook your rudeness this once because I understand how you must be feeling. Father's adjustments – while entirely necessary – are seldom pleasant. He only hurts us out of love; that is why we must always obey him in all things great and small. Else I fear he will be forced to make more adjustments. You would do well to mind your tongue the next time you speak to me. Do you understand me, you father-stealing cunt?"

"I can talk to you however I want, stupid. Lord Bolton said you can't hurt me," snapped Arya, spitting at the bald man's feet. "And I'll always hate you and your stupid father besides. He killed my mother and...wait...what do you mean you understand? What did Lord Bolton ever do to you?" _He couldn't understand what it's like...not really, but maybe I can make Domeric think his father hates him and turn him against Lord Bolton...maybe._ Arya couldn't help smiling at the thought of doing to Lord Bolton what he had done to her mother. _It won't upset him as much though...not really. Lord Bolton hates his children and my mother loved me. I don't deserve to have a family after I got Robb and her killed, but I can still save Bran and Rickon. I'll get them out of this stupid castle...somehow.  
_  
"He killed my mother and fed her to me," moaned Domeric as he unlocked the chain around Arya's leg. _What? No, that's...not even Lord Bolton would do that...would he? No! That...that can't be true._ Arya glanced at Domeric and for a moment he seemed to be little more than a frightened child.

"I'd kill someone if they did that to me. I...I guess I can sleep on the floor in your room. You don't have to chain me to the wall though...not really! I'll be good, you'll see!"

"No, I won't because I am still going to chain you to the wall." Arya frowned and bit her lip. _I thought that would work..._

"I...I know that your father is forcing you to wed me. I'm sure you hate it near as much as I do."

"As you say."

"I don't blame you for any of this and I don't hate you either...not really," Arya lied. _He's listening! I can trick him into letting me walk around wherever I want and then I can free Bran and Rickon. Maybe there won't even be any guards...maybe. Domeric hates Lord Bolton too; I know he does! All I have to do is get him to trust me...somehow. Stupid Boltons._

"No? I thought you said you'd always hate me. Seven Hells! At this rate, we'll be late for the Kingslayer's execution. Father will be wroth with me if we miss his wedding present."

"I only said that because I...umm...I...I didn't know what your father had done to your mother. I know what that's like though; Lord Bolton killed my mother too!"

"No one cares about your problems and your mother deserved to die bringing a father-stealing cunt like you into the world besides. Father didn't want to do it; he...a man shouldn't cry. I cried and needed adjustments! I...I made him kill mother, I'd never learn otherwise."

"HEY! My mother didn't deserve to die and you'd better not say she did ever again or I'll...I mean...you really think Lord Bolton killed your mother because he saw you crying?"

"I knew you'd understand."

"But that doesn't make any sense."

"It has to make sense. Father wouldn't do anything to hurt me unless it would help me, I think."

"Lord Bolton said you were his greatest regret and that he'd rather have no children than a son like you."

"No, he...he wouldn't say that; you're lying...aren't you," Domeric asked desperately, plainly struggling not to cry.

"Nope, your stupid father hates you; he told me so himself at Harrenhal. Lord Bolton said you were a failure and that he could never be proud of a son who let him do what he's done to your mother. He also said that a real Bolton would've killed him for it. You should help me kill your father, Domeric. You'd be Lord of the Dreadfort, we'd finally be rid of each other, and...c-c-c-c-can't...can't b-b-breathe," wheezed Arya as Domeric grabbed her by the neck with both hands and slowly began choking the life out of her.

"FATHER DOES NOT HATE ME! TAKE IT BACK, YOU LYING BITCH," roared Domeric. The room began to spin and a few seconds later Arya started seeing spots where Domeric's head should've been.

"Help..." Arya hated herself for saying that word. It made her feel like a weak, frightened little girl and not a wolf at all.

"It's not enough for your kind that father favors you – a worthless, spoiled, father-stealing cunt who is of the wrong sex to ever do more than breed a new litter of shrieking brats – over his own son, is it? 'Don't flay your betrothed,' 'don't beat her until she's given you at least two healthy sons,' 'don't torture her anymore than necessary,' and yet all you do is bitch and whine. I never received any such consideration from father when I was your age. Can you even imagine what it's like see father favor a worthless little shit like you after all the adjustments I've let him make? Do you have any idea what I would give to be where you are right now? DO YOU," screamed Domeric as Arya's eyes began to roll back into their sockets.

"Bolton...hurt you...if...killing me..."

"My father loves me, you lying bitch! SAY IT!"

"He...Lord...Bolton loves...you," whispered Arya as her heartbeat grew fainter and fainter. Domeric dropped her on the ground and the Lone Wolf spent the next 50 seconds desperately gasping for air. _Domeric, he...he's insane or... I...I'll tell Lord Bolton what he did! No, I can't do that...not really. If I do, Domeric might try to hurt Bran and Rickon. I can't talk to Domeric about Lord Bolton that way ever again though. It's too dangerous; if I die then there will be no one left to save Bran and Rickon. I won't die; I'm going to save them, mother._ _You'll see!_

"Please don't tell father that nearly killed...wait...NO! This will not serve. Seven Hells, there are marks on your neck; you have to tell him that Skinner tried to kill you, but you escaped. Please, you don't understand what he'll do to me if he finds out I nearly killed you," wailed Domeric.

"Who's Skin...Skinner? And why...why should I help...help you?"

"Do you have any idea what he'll do to me? Father, he...he might kill me for this."

"Good, I...I hope...I hope he does kill...wait...if I...if I tell...tell your stupid...stupid father that Skin-Skinner attacked...hurt me, will you...will you help me...help me escape?"

"No."

"Then why...then...why...why should I help...help you," panted Arya.

"Because if you don't, father might kill me."

"So?"

"If I'm dead then he'll force you to marry Ramsay instead." _No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. He can't! Lord Bolton wouldn't do...no, that's stupid. Of course, he'd do that... Not today! Not today! Not today! Not today!_ In truth, no matter how much the Lone Wolf hated Domeric Bolton – and she hated him near as much as she did the rest of his stupid family even before he tried to choke her to death – he was plainly nowhere near as dangerous as the bastard. _At least Domeric doesn't want to hurt me...not really. He just...loses his stupid mind sometimes is all; he'll still be easier to outsmart than Ramsay, most like. I just...have to be more careful next time is all._

"No, I...I'll tell him it was...it was Spitter."

"Skinner."

"That's what I said, stupid."

"Come. Father will be expecting us."

"I'm not your stupid dog," muttered Arya, sulking out of the room behind Domeric.


	31. Arya XII

**Arya**

 _There has to be some way to trick him, unless...what if he's...no, that can't be it. I'm smarter than that stupid Bolton. I just...have to figure out the right words is all,_ Arya decided as Domeric led her to the Dreadfort's great hall. The castle's halls seemed to twist and turn like one of Lord Bolton's leeches and most people would've gotten lost if they ever tried to escape. It was like a labyrinth designed to trap anyone who had not spent a great deal of time there, but Arya didn't mind. The Dreadfort's halls and passages didn't confuse her...not really. She could remember what each path looked like and where it led...at least, the ones Domeric and Lord Bolton had shown her, but Arya knew better than to say so out-loud. _They only unlock that stupid chain because they think I couldn't find my way around if I tried to escape, most like. Stupid Boltons. I bet Ramsay didn't learn his way around this stupid castle as quickly as I did. I'm more of a Bolton than he is and I hate all of them. No! No! No! No! No! NEVER! I don't care what Lord Bolton and his stupid 'laws of Gods and men' say; I'll never be one of them...not really. I am a direwolf and I will always be, no matter who Lord Bolton tries to force me to marry._

The Lone Wolf knew that she would always be a Stark of Winterfell and yet she couldn't help taking some small measure of pride in the fact that she already knew her way around most of Lord Bolton's stupid castle as though she'd been born and raised there. Of course, there were some parts of the Dreadfort – the ones that even Domeric seemed afraid to talk about – that Arya knew nothing about, but most of them didn't matter...not really. You could survive the Dreadfort even if you didn't know what happened in the hidden tunnel that Ramsay would go through with anyone except his father. You'd forget those rooms even existed if it weren't for the occasional screams echoing through the castle and the Lone Wolf knew better than to ask what happened in places like that besides. There was one hidden area that mattered though: the dungeons. Even though the Boltons never brought Arya there, it was plain that Bran and Rickon were being kept in one of the cells.

 _I can't keep waiting; I have to try again. If I don't trick him into helping me before we get to the courtyard then it might be too late and Lord Bolton would notice besides. But if I try again and it doesn't work then Domeric, he...he might kill me this time. I am a direwolf and I am not afraid, Arya decided. Even if I was scared, it wouldn't matter...not really. Bran and Rickon need me! Rickon still loves me even though everyone should hate me after the things I've done. Bran always looks at the floor whenever he sees me; he's afraid I'll get him killed too, most like. I should've saved mother and Robb, it...it's my fault they're dead. Mother always loved me and I believed Lord Bolton instead of her; if it weren't for me she'd still be alive. Maybe I deserve to be a stupid Bolton instead of a Stark of Winterfell...maybe. All my mother ever did was love me and I wasn't there to save her when she needed me._ Arya bit her lip. _I won't fail my family again! Never! I have to protect them...somehow. I don't want to marry some stupid Bolton! I hate everything about this stupid castle! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! What if...I mean...I could...Domeric would have to help me then!_

"Domeric?"

"Yes, my Lady?"

"I'm not a Lady!"

"I fear I must beg your forgiveness; in truth, your proper title is 'Queen Arya.' At least, so far as those loyal to the King Who Lost the North are concerned..."

"You better not call me a stupid 'Queen' ever again or I'll –"

"If you will pardon the momentary interruption, you'll find that I was not about to refer to you as such."

"You weren't?"

"No."

"Good because...I mean...you...you'd better not call me that."

"I wouldn't dream of it. After our wedding, it will no longer be improper for me to refer to you by your given name. It is admittedly a rather tiresome one, but I suppose you cannot be blamed for your parents' stunted creativity."

"HEY! My name is not tiresome."

"Tiresome, dull, boring; I have no intention of arguing semantics with you at this time."

"Well...you...you're just a stupid...the walls have more hair than you do!" Domeric raised his hand in the air, but stopped himself before he struck his betrothed.

"Consider yourself fortunate that father threatened to take my left hand if I left any visible bruises upon you prior to the wedding." Arya rubbed her neck and glared at Lord Bolton's heir. _Stupid Bolton._

"I changed my mind; I think I will tell your father what you did to me."

"Father will force you to marry Ramsay if he kills me. I believe we've been over this already," replied Domeric, plainly doing his best to feign indifference. Arya simply shrugged. The blue-eyed monster's skin grew even paler than usual; it was as though Lord Bolton's leeches had finally drained every drop of blood from his son's body. More importantly, the frightened child she'd seen earlier returned.

"But he'll...please, father loves me, but if...do you know what he'll...he won't just cut off my hand. You're going to make him think I'm to broken to fix even with further adjustments and you...you're just...you're just a child. You don't really want to make my father torture me to death, do you? Of course...of course not. Please don't tell him; he'll take everything! I won't be me anymore and –" Arya did her best imitation of the way she'd seen Ramsay smile right before he did something horrible.

"I DON'T DESERVE THIS! Please, don't tell father. He'll think I need more adjustments if he knows I nearly killed you. My father loves me! It's only for the best! All for the best! All for the...for the...PLEASE DON'T TELL HIM," sobbed the bald leech, falling to his knees. For all that she hated Domeric, the Lone Wolf found that she couldn't help feeling pitying him. In truth, she almost felt guilty about making him suffer like this when she wasn't even going to tell Lord Bolton it was Domeric. It felt like something a Bolton would do, not a Stark. _I am not a Bolton! I am a direwolf. I'm not doing it to torture Domeric, I just...needed to scare him a little is all. And getting him killed would only make things worse for my brothers and me besides._

"I'll still say it was Sinner, but not because I'm afraid of Lord Bolton's stupid bastard," Arya lied.

"Then why...why not?"

"I'm doing it as a favor."

"A what?"

"A favor. Don't you know what a favor is?"

"I have heard the term, yes. People actually do those for each other? Odd. In truth, I thought it was simply a myth."

"It is not a myth, stupid; it's a real thing. I did something nice for you, so that means you have to now do something nice for me in return."

"Why?"

"Because I just did you a favor, stupid."

"I don't understand." _What do you mean you don't understand? How stupid are you?_

"Which part," groaned Arya, rolling her eyes.

"What's stopping me from just letting you do what I want and never doing anything for you in return?"

"That...that's not how it works."

"Why not? It seems like a far more sensible course of action."

"It just isn't! Now will you please stop being such a stupidhead and –"

"Excuse me, I do believe you failed to answer my question in a satisfactory manner. That would've been rude enough even if you hadn't insulted me."

"Fine, I'll answer your stupid question. If you only take and never do anything nice in return then no one will ever do you another favor in the future."

"Why would I ever need another one from you after this? Why would I have any need for you at all once you've given me a suitable heir and a replacement in case the first one should die at an early age? I suppose you'd have to raise them, but even so, you must admit that you're hardly in a position to assist me at this time." Arya ground her teeth in frustration. _Stupid Boltons!_

"For the last time, that's not how it works!"

"It is now. I fear your conception of such reciprocal transactions is a decidedly foolish one, at best."

"What?"

"How can I put this in a way that a proud vulgarian such as yourself would understand? Your childish notions that any act which benefits an individual by another person must needs be repaid in kind are absurd, impractical, and rooted in the stupidity of your forebarers' beliefs, most like. Was that sufficient or would you have me use even smaller words?"

"You're stupid!"

"Your insult is 'stupid,' as you so elegantly put it. In truth, everything's always 'stupid' with you. Why is that? If it isn't 'stupid this,' then it's 'stupid that,' I think. This will not serve. Find a new word for things you don't like; even you can be more creative than that, most like."

"I can say whatever I want, stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid," snapped Arya, sticking her tongue out at Domeric.

"Mayhaps you simply lack the emotional maturity to express your anger and frustration in anything other than a decidedly childish manner."

"I do not act like a stupid child when I get angry, I just...HEY! Stop laughing at me! That wasn't supposed to be funny, so you better stop laughing," growled the Lone Wolf.

"I wasn't laughing at you; I assure you that your behavior disgusts me as much as ever. I was merely practicing for this wretched ceremony that father has seen fit to force me to participate in; he will expect me to treat the attending Lords with something other than open contempt, I think. I fear they are little more than a useless collection of boorish and vulgar fools. Of course, they are still worth more than a member of the weaker sex, particularly one rude enough to make a Wildling appear civilized."

"Shut up! I...I hate you! You and your stupid bald face!"

"Have I done something during the course of this conversation to give you the impression that I care what a father-stealing cunt such as yourself thinks about anything? If so than I fear I must apologize as I can assure you that I place no greater value on your opinions than I do those of a pool of wet shit from one of Lord Snow's dogs."

"I SAID SHUT UP!"

"Enough. We're almost there."

"We are?"

"Yes and these childish oubursts will not serve. If you misbehave in any way, shape, or form then I can promise you that your brothers shall pay dearly for it. Should any Lord make inquires about the events which transpired at the Twins, you shall inform him that my father led a counter-attack of sorts along with the Freys who would not take part in the so-called Red Wedding, rescued you from the Twins, and personally slew Lord Walder. Naturally, it was your dear dying brother's last wish that I be wedded to his heir in order to repay my father's loyalty," grumbled Domeric.

"THAT'S THE STUPIDEST THING I'VE EVER...I...I mean...fine, but you better not hurt Bran and Rickon after this stupid wedding." _I can't waste time arguing right now, this could be my last chance!_ Arya bit her lip and knew that she had to try something...anything.

"Wait...it would be...I mean...it's rude not to return a favor when someone does one for you," Arya blurted. _Bran and Rickon need me! I have to stay focused...no matter how annoying Domeric acts. Not even Gendry was ever half as frustrating as that stupid, bald leech..._ Arya frowned, knowing that she would never see Gendry or Hot Pie ever again. She missed her former friends, even though she knew they hated her because of Lord Vargo. _At least, I didn't get them killed too..._

"It is?" _Wait, that...that actually worked?_

"Umm...yes, it's very rude not to return a favor when someone does one for you."

"I stopped choking you before I killed you, so in truth, it was you who owed me a favor."

"WHAT! That wasn't a favor, idiot!"

"No?"

"No! You...umm...you didn't do it just to be nice."

"As you say; I must needs think on this. We will not discuss so-called 'favors' any further, is that understood?"

"Yes, my Lord," Arya signed. The Lone Wolf followed Domeric into the great hall, kicking at the stone floor as she walked. In truth, Arya wanted nothing more than to run to one of the parts of the Dreadfort she'd never explored before and hide – even delaying the wedding for just a few minutes would've meant that much longer until she was forced to marry Lord Bolton's stupid son – and she might've even done so were Bran and Rickon not being kept in the Dreadfort's dungeons.

...

Arya didn't know who most of the Lords speaking to Domeric and Lord Bolton in the courtyard were, but she recognized a few of them. She recognized Lord Glover, but Ser Robett was from House Glover too and he was plainly Lord Bolton's creature at Harrenhal. _The Glovers' are all just a bunch of cowards,_ Arya decided.

 _Why do I have to wear this stupid dress? It's almost as bad as having to pretend to like all these people,_ Arya thought to herself bitterly as Lord Manderly rambled about how the North needed a Red King in Winterfell. _I hate him! Him and his stupid chins!_ Arya clenched and unclenched her fists under the table and forced herself to resist the urge to throw her plate at the fat Lord's head. _Ramsay Snow. Theon Turncloak. Ser Ilyn Payne. The Hound. Dunsen. Polliver. The Tickler. Wyman Manderly. Roose...Lord Bolton. Valar Morghulis._ Arya bit her lip and lowered her sad, grey eyes. Even after everything that had happened, a part of her still felt a small pang of guilt every time she included Lord Bolton on her list, no matter how much she hated him. Arya oft thought about adding Domeric, but killing him didn't make any sense...not when there was still a chance he might help her if she could just figure out the right way to ask. _If he helps my brothers and me escape then he doesn't deserve to die...not really._

"The day of the direwolf is done and I can assure you that I speak for all in my House when I say my only regret is that it didn't end sooner," continued Lord Manderly. _No one here remembers my family and they don't care what happened at the Twins either...not really. They're all traitors, every one. Lord Bolton wasn't any worse than the rest of the Northern Lords...not really. I won't forget about the Red Wedding! Never! Am I always going to have to pretend not to hate these people? Lord Bolton can't just make me be polite to people I hate for the rest of my life; that isn't fair! I don't want to be some stupid old Lady who wears dresses or acts all boring and ladylike. And Lord Bolton usually lets me wear britches besides...just like he did at Harrenhal._

The Lone Wolf never thought she'd miss that terrible place, but thinking about it reminded her of a simpler time. A time when Arya had let herself believe that she could still be happy even after everything that had happened in King's Landing. A time when she still had a pack and when the Dreadfort seemed like the answer to every problem she'd ever had. The Lone Wolf knew that it had been just another lie – as ridiculous as those stupid songs Sansa liked so much – and yet she missed the feeling all the same.

In truth, not everything about the day had been terrible. Most of the Lords brought stupid goblets or boring old books for Domeric, but there was one wedding preasent that had brought a smile to Arya's face that was even wider than Ramsay's right before he hurt someone. Lord Bolton's wedding gift to his son was having the Kingslayer – the last Lannister – executed by some man named Spanner in the great hall, right in front of all the other Lords. Arya took more than a little comfort in the knowledge that she'd personally witnessed the extinction of House Lannister and in truth, there was even a part of her that wanted to believe that Lord Bolton's present was intended more for her than it was for Domeric. She knew that he'd had the Kingslayer killed to show the other Lords that House Bolton could punish the North's enemies, but that didn't have to be the only reason...not really.

There were was one guest at the wedding feast whom Arya couldn't help liking even if she was cooperating with the Boltons. _Maybe some of the Houses are only pretending to support the Boltons...maybe._ If all of the Northern Lords were craven traitors, then the same could not be said of the Northern ladies and it most certainly could not be said of Barbrey Dustin. Arya couldn't hate Lady Dustin if she'd wanted to, not after the strange old woman shouted "The North Remembers" right in the middle of Lord Manderly's stupid speech after he said "We have more than a wedding to celebrate today, I say. After the countless disasters that House Stark has brought down upon the heads of every honorable Northman, we should also celebrate the long-overdue end to their rule. However tragic the events which allegedly transpired at the Twins may have been, the North can finally rest easy knowing that the Stark bloodline has come to an end and they will be forgotten by the histories in just a few short years." Arya ground her teeth and began quietly stabbing the table with her knife. Domeric was sitting to her right, but he'd somehow managed to fall asleep in the middle of his own wedding. _I won't forget about my family and I won't forget you and your stupid chins either..._

As Lord Manderly continued to babble about how evil House Stark was, Arya began stabbing the table harder and harder until she noticed Lord Bolton glaring at her. She bit her lip nervously and stopped stabbing the table, although Arya continued to grip her knife until she realized the Lord of the Dreadfort was studying the marks on her neck. Lord Bolton looked from Arya to Domeric – who was still sound asleep – and back at Arya.

"It was Shredder; Domeric didn't do anything," Arya whispered. _He doesn't believe me. Lord Bolton, he...he always knows when people are lying. Why isn't he angry?_ As if in reply, Lord Bolton cuffed his son in the back of the head as though he were a dog.

"What was that for?"

"We shall speak of it later and in private, I think..."

...

The wedding itself was to take place in front of a heart tree in the Dreadfort's courtyard. _Why does Ramsay keep smiling?_ Arya shuddered. The Bastard of Bolton kept looking at her as though he were a cat and she were a small mouse whose tail was pinned beneath his paw. _He's going to hurt me...somehow,_ the Lone Wolf realized. Lord Snow's smile grew wider and wider as he slowly approached his prey.

"Do you know who is going to give you away in just a few moments? Normally it would be your father, oh that's right, poor widdle Arya doesn't have a daddy does she? No, that's right, Joffrey Lannister cut it off and put it on a spike for the whole wide world to see each and every day," sneered Ramsay.

"Shut up," growled the Lone Wolf as quietly as she could.

"What was that? I could've sworn YOU just told ME to 'shut up.' Could that be right? Pity. What's that old saying? 'Every time a little girl misbehaves, a two little wolf pups lose a toe.' Yes, that's it!" Arya bit her lip.

"That's not fair! I've been good and...Lord Bolton, he...he won't just let you do that for no reason." Ramsay shrugged.

"Well, I suppose we'll just have to find out, won't we? Now then, I do believe I asked you a question."

"Go away! I hate you!"

"Hate such an ugly word. Come now, is that any way to talk to your good-brother?"

"You're never going to be my good-brother. Lord Bolton will be my good-father and his stupid son will be my...Domeric will be my...I'll have to marry Lord Bolton's son, but they're both Boltons. You are not a Bolton...not really. You're just a bastard and that's all you'll ever be; after this stupid wedding is over, even I'll be more of a Bolton than you," replied Arya, sticking her tongue out at Lord Bolton's bastard. The left side of Ramsay's face began to twitch and for a moment the Lone Wolf thought that he was going to kill her right where she stood. Instead, he simply smiled again...though not half so widely as before.

"I fear you seem determined to force me to answer my own question. Very well. In a moment, you will be given away by a dear, beloved friend of yours, did you know that?"

"Whatever."

"Theon Greyjoy was like a brother to you, wasn't he? Of course he was! I'm sure this will make things so much easier for you, don't you think?"

"WHAT?"

"Now, now, stay calm. You wouldn't want to upset my father, would you? He's been watching you very carefully today. We don't want to disappoint him, do you? No, of course not. After all, he might be so upset with you that he'd skin your brothers alive. Which reminds me, in a moment, your best friend is going to take you by the arm and lead you out to the courtyard to...ah...hear he is!" Arya took one look at Theon Turncloak and nearly attacked him right then and there, but instead she spat in his face. Her father's former ward was missing both of his lips and an ear...and those were things Arya could see; worse, he was so malnourished that his organs seemed to be tumbling out of his abdomen like an oversized belly. The turncloak's bones looked like they were about to burst through his skin like spikes and it was plain that Arya would have to be careful not to accidentally break them. _The stupid turncloak can't even look me in the eye; he won't stop looking at the floor._

 _Maybe he only deserved a quick death though...maybe. This seems...wrong. Why should I even feel sorry for him anyway? No one should suffer like that, but Lord Bolton, he...he said we should never feel guilty about justice being done. NO! I don't want to be like Lord Bolton, but I can't be weak either. Theon Turncloak will spend the rest of his life in the Dreadfort's dungeons, but I'll convince Domeric to stop letting Ramsay torture prisoners. No matter what Theon Turncloak did, this can't be what justice looks like or...it won't be once Lord Bolton dies._ _I can decide which people are good and bad better than anyone else and Domeric doesn't care who deserves to be punished...not really. It should be my job to decide what happens to our prisoners, not Domeric's or Ramsay's or anyone else's,_ Arya decided as she tried not to think about what was about to happen in the courtyard. _I'd make a better Lord than either of Lord Bolton's stupid sons. I wouldn't waste all of my time listening to stupid traitors like Lord Manderly or writing boring old ravens and I'd even be nicer to the smallfolk. Why can't I be Lord of Winterfell?_

 _If Lord Bolton is going to force me to become part of his stupid House then I'm going to make House Bolton more like House Stark. No, I can't do that...not really. If I do then Bran, Rickon, and me will all die whenever the next red wedding happens. Lord Bolton was right about Robb and my family: No matter how much they loved me, they were weak and Sansa is too, most like. Even Jon had to be a little bit weak or he wouldn't have run away to that stupid Wall and Bran wouldn't be calling himself 'Reek' if he were strong like Rickon and me. I am not weak. I am a direwolf. House Bolton can't be weak until after my brothers and I have escaped._

 _I'd still be a better Lord than Domeric or Ramsay though, I know I would! And even Sansa would be ten times the Lord that stupid fat turncloak from White Harbor is, most like. Lord Bolton, he...he even said that he wished his son was more like me. I'm a girl and he still thinks I'm a better son than either of his stupid children. If I...if I'm ever forced to have any of Domeric's...NO! They won't belong to him...not really. If I'm ever forced to have any stupid children then I'm going to raise my stupid children in whatever stupid way I want! They'll be strong, but they won't be like Lord Bolton's sons and they'll still listen to me if any of them ever become Lords; I know they will! Maybe Domeric won't even care about being a Lord once his father dies...maybe. I could argue with him until he does what I want him to or trick him into..._ Arya looked down at the ground in shame and for a moment, she hated herself near as much as when she first realized that her mother – the one person left who would always love her no matter what – was dead and all because her daughter wasn't there to save her.

 _Even if I could be Lord of Winterfell, all that matters is getting Bran and Rickon out of this stupid castle and Domeric would never listen to me besides. The last time I was stupid enough to think I could ever be happy again, I got my mother killed and now I'm being forced to marry Lord Bolton's stupid son on the same day that he tried to murder me. And even if my brothers and I had a chance to escape, I still deserve to be a Bolton. It's my fault our mother's dead, so in a way it's like I murdered her too. Bran only told me that he blamed me for our mother's death because Ramsay told him to, but he'd probably been thinking it already... I won't fail my family ever again! NEVER!_

A light tug on Arya's left arm brought her mind back to the day's events as the Prince of the Iron Islands grabbed her left arm and began to slowly lead the Lone Wolf out of the room. The Lone Wolf's skin felt as though it was trying to crawl off her bones and run away the moment she felt Theon Turncloak's arm around hers.

"GET YOUR STUPID HANDS OFF ME! DON'T TOUCH ME! I HATE YOU, YOU STUPID...STUPID GREYJOY!"

"Did I mention that if you give The Prince Who Lost Winterfell a hard time, I get to cut off one of Rickon's arms?" Arya ground her teeth and Theon struggled to drag her toward the door.

"Why isn't he saying anything?"

"We're playing the quiet game. Theon, why don't you explain the rules to Arya. Oh that's right, you can't. If your favorite turncloak says a single word without being asked to by my father, I get to unman him."

"Good. I hope he talks so you can unman him; maybe Lord Bolton will cut out his stupid tongue too...maybe." Theon whimpered and tears began to pour down his cheeks. _Stupid turncloak._

"Ramsay?"

"Yes, dear sister of mine?"

"Don't EVER call me that again!"

"As you wish, little sister."

"I AM NOT YOUR...nevermind. Are you staying inside the Dreadfort?"

"Yes."

"Lord Bolton ordered you not to set foot in the courtyard during your wedding, didn't he? It must be because only Boltons and highborns are allowed to be there. Lord Bolton doesn't want anyone to think you're related to him, most like."

"Shut your cunt mouth before I shut it for you," seethed Lord Bolton's bastard.

"Your father's ashamed of you; he doesn't want anyone to know he had a son who isn't a real Bolton, but he got stuck with you somehow. You should be more careful how you talk to me since I'm about to be a member of your House...oh wait...it will never actually be your House because you're just a stupid bastard. If you ever hurt either of my brothers again, you won't live to regret it. I'll have your head on a spike before you can open your stupid wormy lips to beg for mercy," the Lone Wolf growled, hoping her bluff sounded as menacing as it did in her head.

"And you'd best be careful too, my Lady. A great many things can change in an awfully short time and bastards can rise far in this fine world of ours..."

"I'm not a Lady."

...

Theon Turncloak led Arya past all the Northern Lords and Ladies in the Dreadfort's courtyard and stopped in front of a large heart tree where Lord Bolton and Domeric were waiting.

"Who comes before the Old Gods this night," asked Lord Bolton in a voice as soft as a whisper. _At least Lord Bolton looks a little bit sad; he isn't though...not really, but it was still nice of him to pretend._

"Arya of the House Stark, heir to Winterfell and Queen of the North, comes here to be wed," replied Theon Turncloak. "A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?" _I don't want to be some stupid Queen and everyone would just hate me even more when they saw what a hash I'd made of it besides. Sansa's supposed to be a Queen, not me. If Joffrey weren't such a stupidhead, he'd have realized how lucky he was that someone who was perfect at everything loved him so much...even if it was only because she's an idiot. At least this is happening to me instead of Sansa; I'm glad she's safe. I wonder if she ever misses me. Probably not..._

"Domeric of House Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort," grumbled Domeric. "Who gives her?" _HEY! I'm a person, not some stupid pair of boots you're buying from a merchant. Stop talking about me like that!_

"Her father's ward, Theon of House Greyjoy. Domeric of House Bolton, do you take this woman?" At first, Domeric didn't say anything, he just stood there like a stupid tree and ground his teeth until his father whacked him in the back of the head. _Wait a minute...what are you so upset about? I'm being forced to marry someone I hate too and I'm not being a big baby about it. My stupid hair isn't even tangled in knots today and I've been good besides. You're the one who fell asleep during his own stupid wedding feast. Even if no one would ever want to marry me, I'm the one who should be upset, not you! What do you have to complain about? You're about to be King of the North, can't you pretend for five seconds that marrying me isn't one of the worst things you've ever been forced to do,_ Arya silently fumed as her face turned a light shade of red.

 _Who cares how you feel about this stupid wedding anyway; I don't want to marry you either! It isn't fair! Why should it hurt my stupid feelings that Domeric feels the same way I do when I still hate him? That stupid bald leech better not make me feel this way about him ever again! I don't like it! Stupid Boltons._ In truth, moments like this were part of the reason that the Lone Wolf hadn't added Domeric to her list: whatever else he did, at least Lord Bolton's eldest son seemed to hate everything that was happening in the Dreadfort near as much as she did. _Maybe he doesn't really want to hurt people and is just afraid of Lord Bolton...maybe._

"Fine. Now that I've committed myself to this unholy union, can I go? OWWW. Father, I said 'fine.' OWWWW! You didn't have to hit me a third...wait...what I meant to say was 'I take this woman.'" _That's not why he did that,_ Arya realized. _Well maybe it was, but it wasn't the only reason...not really. Lord Bolton's hitting Domeric in public so that everyone here knows that even if his son's title is "King in the North," Domeric is still just a stupid puppet and not a real King at all. Lord Bolton's the real King in the North...or he is until I kill him, at least._

"That will serve, I think," replied the Lord of the Dreadfort mildly. "Arya of House Stark, do you take this...man?" The Lone Wolf didn't need to think about her answer, all she needed to do was think of her brothers and the answer came without hesitation...not that this made her hate it any less.

"I take this man," the Lone Wolf whimpered. Her eyes grew watery and she struggled to fight back the bitter tears that threatened to flood down her cheeks. Arya knew that if she let her smile sag for even a few seconds or if Lord Bolton thought it looked too forced, it would be as though she were the one flaying off her younger brothers' lips instead of Ramsay. Each tear would be another knife in Bran and Rickon's backs...one knife for each of their sister's stupid hands. _I will not...I will not cry, I...I can't! If I cry or...or if I don't look happy enough, Lord Bolton might let Ramsay kill Bran and Rickon. I couldn't save father from Joffrey even though I was right there. I knew what the Freys were planning, but I told Lord Bolton instead of mother. It's my fault Robb and my parents are dead, but I won't fail my family again! Never!_

"And do you, Arya of House Bolton, grant your Lord husband all lands, titles, and incomes to which you are entitled as both Lady of Winterfell and heir of the late King Robb Stark?"

"I, Arya of House...House Bolton, grant all of them to Domeric of House Bolton, my..." Arya looked up at Lord Bolton with her sad, grey eyes and silently pleaded that he not force her to say the last two words.

"Your what?"

"My...I grant them to Domeric of House Bolton, my...my Lord husband." Something broke deep within Arya's soul once she said the words "Lord husband" and as it shattered into a million pieces, she slipped into some sort of strange trance. She couldn't think, speak, move, or do anything else except stare blankly at the half-mad monster she'd just been forced to wed. Domeric snapped the Lone Wolf out of her safe, distant state of mind when he dropped his cloak of protection onto the sad, frightened little girl's head rather than gently draping it over her shoulders. This earned him another whack in the back of the head from his father, but Arya didn't care about that...not really. All that mattered right now was forcing herself to keep smiling, not say anything that might upset Lord Bolton, and keeping herself from crying...at least until she got away from all of the stupid turncloak Lords who used to serve Robb. Domeric's cloak was far too large and the bitter winds stung as they nipped at her skin, so she wrapped it around her entire upper body like a large blanket.

"It seems entirely unnecessary for me to degrade myself further in front of my subjects. Would you truly have me kiss that...thing?" _I'm a girl!_

"So they are your subjects now? Is that the way of it," asked the Lord of the Dreadfort in a voice so quiet that even Arya could barely hear him.

"As you say. Now that this absurd ritual is at an end, I'm the King in the North." _You're only digging yourself a deeper hole, idiot. You know that, don't you?_

"Are you?"

"In truth, our Houses use the title 'Red King,' but I needn't fear another man ever again, I think. And I have no desire to kiss a frightened little girl besides." _Is he actually going to start standing up to Lord Bolton?_

"You mean your beloved wife?"

"Look at the poor child, father, she's plainly too grief-stricken about using improper grammar to even understand what's going on any more. She's near catatonic."

"Good. Mayhaps she will remain in such a state until tomorrow morning. It would make your job easier, I think." _What? That doesn't even make any sense._

"It will not serve for our King to put his own selfish desires ahead of the needs of his House and I fear certain traditions must needs be observed on such occasions as this...however absurd they may be. One way or another, you'll do as you are bid, I think. Do you require further adjustments, Your Grace?" Domeric's face turned as near as pale as his eyes and for a moment Arya was certain that Lord Bolton's eldest son was about to soil himself. _So much for that... Stupid Bolton._

"No, father," grumbled Domeric as he knelt to the ground and quickly did as he was bid...much to the disgust of all involved.

"You," grunted Domeric, glancing at Arya before turning around and walking toward the Dreadfort.

"I have a name, stup...I mean...yes? Do you need something," asked Arya, glancing nervously at Lord Bolton. The Lord of the Dreadfort let out a loud sigh of frustration, but plainly had other things on his mind.

"I fear my father will want us to complete one final task tonight."

"As you say. I trust you are familiar with the procedure, Your Grace."

"Yes, father, I've read about it in several books," groaned Lord Bolton's heir.

"What is it, my...my Lord? How may I be of...umm...assistance?" _They better not try to make me keep talking this way once everyone leaves!_

"Come. I'll explain in our chambers," grumbled Domeric. _What does Lord Bolton want us to do now? He's not going to have Domeric rape me, at least not tonight; otherwise there would have been a bedding ceremony._ Arya bit her lip as she quickly followed Domeric back into the Dreadfort. _I'm not sleeping in the same bed as that stupid bald leech! Maybe I can still sleep on the floor...maybe._


	32. Arya XIII

**Arya**

"Where are we going," Arya asked nervously as Lord Bolton's son led her down a dark and unfamiliar path. The Lone Wolf couldn't see a thing and was forced to hold Domeric's hand to avoid getting separated, much to their mutual disgust. Just touching one of the blue-eyed monster's cold, leather gloves was more than enough to make Arya's skin crawl. If she'd actually had to actually Domeric himself – even for a second – she would've thrown-up, most like.

"To bed," grunted Domeric.

"No we're not, my room is on the other side of the Dreadfort."

"Not anymore, I think. I fear that what is mine is now yours as well." _He can't mean...GROSS! I won't sleep in his stupid bed! Never!_

"Can...can I at least sleep on the floor?"

"It matters not at all. Either way, I will chain your leg to the wall." Arya frowned as she tried to decide whether she should be relieved or angry about her husband's answer. "Oh and one more thing, you needn't worry about your possessions, my Lady. Father already took the liberty of having them moved to our chambers."

"For the last time, I'm not a stupid Lady, so you'd better stop calling me that!"

"Is that so? And what will you do if I continue to call you that?"

"I'll...I'll...umm...shut up!"

"Do I have your word on that matter? Is calling you 'my Lady' again truly all that I need do to end your babbling?"

"HEY! That's not what I meant and I can babble whenever I want!"

"It isn't? Pity."

"I was telling you to shut up, idiot."

"You do that quite often, I think."

"Maybe if you didn't say stupid things all the time, I wouldn't –"

"I bet you can't go one day without calling something 'stupid.'"

"Well you said you wouldn't call me a stupid Lady anymore after our wedding."

"As you say. I fear you must needs forgive me; I keep telling myself that if I don't treat you like my wife then it will be as though this wretched marriage never took place. However unpleasant this experience may've been for you, I can assure you that it is far worse for me."

"WHAT? Your father murdered my mother and brother, then he brought me to his stupid castle and threatened to murder my younger brothers if I didn't marry you."

"Mayhaps. Of course, I'm the one who must needs suffer your presence for the rest of my days."

"So? What's so bad about that?"

"If ever there was a fate worse than death, it is the one which you and my father have forced upon me. In truth, I'd sooner wed a one of Lord Snow's dogs." Arya tried not to let Domeric's words anger her, but it was no use. _I'm not going to get angry. I don't care what he thinks about me...not really. I don't care and I never will either. I don't care what that stupid...stupid...AAARRRRRGGGGHHHH STOP MAKING ME FEEL THIS WAY!_ Arya looked down at the ground so the stupid blue-eyed madman wouldn't see that her cheeks had turned bright red. _This isn't fair! Why can't you just let me hate you in peace? I hate you just as much as Lord Bolton and Ramsay, so why does it hurt my stupid feelings when you talk that way about me? I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you,_ Arya fumed as she silently cursed Lord Bolton's son. _Stupid Bolton._

"Oh yeah? Well if you love Ramsay's stupid dogs so much, why don't you just marry...I mean...umm...you're just a...you're a...hearing your stupid voice is a fate worse than death. I hope you slip and crack your stupid head open!"

"At least then I'd finally be released from this unholy union."

"SHUT UP!"

...

The castle seemed to grow colder and Arya jerked her left hand away from Domeric the moment they reached a well-lit section of the fortress. The Lone Wolf perked up her ears and tried to determine the source of the distant wailing noise echoing through the halls. Suddenly, a whole pack of dogs began snarling and barking excitedly. _Is that... NO! Lord Bolton wouldn't hurt Bran and Rickon tonight...would he? He can't! I was good!_ Arya bit her lip and was about to sneak away to follow the screams when Domeric – as if anticipating her intentions – explained the origin of the sounds.

"Before you pester me about such trivial matters, allow me to assure you that the sound you hear isn't either of your brothers. Rickon sleeps in the dungeons and your brother Brandon sleeps on the floor in Lord Snow's chambers. Ramsay is simply feeding his dogs, most like."

"Feeding them? But then there shouldn't be any screaming unless..."

"Yes, the savage is feeding some poor bastard to his dogs. Mayhaps Skinner although I fear it is impossible to say for certain. I assure you that I do not condone such behavior and will put an end to this madness the moment that father dies. In any case, your brothers won't die tonight. Of course, if you go running off looking for them..."

"How did you...I mean...I wasn't going to look for them, stupid. How dumb do you think I am?"

"How did I know your intentions? In truth, you are nothing if not predictable. I need only determine what course of action would cause me the most undeserved aggravation and it will be your heart's desire, most like. As for your second question, I think you're an immature, spiteful child who wouldn't know respectable discourse if it punched her in the face."

"Well you're too stupid to know when someone's feeding you dog shit."

"What did you say?"

"When you were asleep, I put a small, dried-out piece of shit from one of Ramsay's dogs on your plate beneath some of the food while you were asleep and you didn't even notice. It was cold, hard, and black. I think there was a fingernail in there or something, but it you must not have tasted it. I was hoping you'd choke on it; whose finger do you think it belonged to, Your Grace?" Domeric's face paled as he frantically shoved his right index finger down his throat. The so-called King in the North threw up all over his hand within seconds...which was good because Arya couldn't contain her laughter any longer. At first, she laughed so hard that she could barely breath.

"You should've...you should...you should've seen the look...the look on your...your stupid face! I can't believe I actually tricked you into...into making yourself throw up."

"But you said –"

"How stupid are you? I didn't actually put dog shit in your food, idiot. What do you think I did? Do you think I just walked up to Ramsay's stupid man-eating dogs and said 'Good morning, can I have a big old piece of your crap so that I can feed it to this idiot I'm being forced to marry?' I can't believe you actually fell for –" *THUD*

...

"Ughhhh...what...wait, how did I get on this stupid bed? Oh right, I was laughing at you for throwing up all over yourself and you hit me because you're too stupid to do anything else when you're angry." _Stupid Bolton._ Arya glanced at the chain around her leg and frowned. "You could've waited until I woke up to put this stupid thing on me. Why am I even on your stupid bed anyway. You said I could sleep on the floor and –"

"As you say. Alas, I fear there is one thing which I fear we must needs do first."

"I don't care what you think we have to do first. I'm going to sleep right now and when I wake up, this stupid day will finally be over," growled the Lone Wolf. Without another word, she grabbed a pillow and jumped off the blue-eyed monster's bed. Arya was about to lay down on the floor when she noticed that Domeric was staring at her with a look that was equal parts disgust, contempt, and bitter defeat. _He's going to hurt me because I tricked him into throwing-up_ , Arya realized. The Lone Wolf bit her lip and began slowly backing away from the madman towering above her as she tried to decide where Lord Bolton would've put Vengeance. _I bet Vengeance isn't even in this stupid room; Lord Bolton wouldn't let me keep a flaying knife in here, most like. Domeric is probably upset because he's about to do something so horrible that he hates himself for even thinking of it. He can't kill me, but what if...what if Lord Bolton doesn't care whether how badly he beats me now that the wedding is over? Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"You better not come any closer!"

"Is that so?"

"Yes and stop looking at me like that; I don't like it!"

"What you like matters not at all, I think. And that is the least of your problems besides. Tell me, have you always been this selfish? Why is it that you insist upon complaining about the situation in which we currently find ourselves when I'm plainly the true victim of this madness? Did you ever think about how unpleasant this incident will be for me?"

"Did you just call yourself a victim? You're not the one who is being forced to –"

"I accept your apology. And you're quite right; you and father do need to do a better job of considering my needs. I'm glad you agree that any mild inconvenience you may suffer tonight pales in comparison to that which I must needs endure."

"I never said that and you know it, so stop trying to act like I did! Why do you always pretend people are saying whatever you want to hear? Do you have any idea how annoying that is?"

"I fear I can't argue with you about that; it is plainly better for us to get this over with rather than dragging out my suffering any longer."

"ARRRGGGGHHHHHH!"

"I should warn you that this will hurt, most like."

"What are you even talking...I mean...whatever you're about to do, you'd better not do it because...because...Lord Bolton won't let you hurt me," Arya blurted even though she knew it wasn't true...not really. Domeric let out a bitter laugh and the cold, cruel look in his eyes seemed to flicker like a pale, blue flame.

"Tell me, who do you think is forcing me to do this?" _Forcing you to do what?  
_

"Well...umm...even if your stupid father did tell you to do something bad to me, if you come even one step closer, I...I'll tell Lord Bolton you attacked me tonight and almost killed –"

"I think not."

"I really will!"

"Would you truly risk causing your child growing up without a father?"

"That's stupid, I don't even have any children."

"As you say."

"And the rest of what you said doesn't even make any sense either, idiot."

"No?"

"Nope! If my child grew up without a father because you died, then that would...wait...but...but that would mean..." _That...that can't be it! Lord Bolton would never tell either of his children to do that...would he? He said Domeric needed an heir and a second son, but...NO! He...he can't! Not today! Not today! Not today! Not today!_

"Go on, I fear it would be impolite to do this without first making you aware of what is about to happen."

"But if you were my son's father then that would mean we...and you'd have...and I'd...and I'd have to be a mother to...and we...we'd have had to...but that would mean you r-r-r-raped –"

"A husband cannot rape his wife, I think. I fear father has insisted that I claim my rights as your Lord husband tonight. Don't worry, I have no intention of ever doing this again once you have given me two sons." Arya's eyes shot toward the chain around her leg and it dawned on her that she was effectively bolted to the wall. One thought raced through her mind and it was the only thought that mattered as she desperately ran toward the other end of the room: _NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!_

The Lone Wolf tried to leap over the bed, but the chain was too short and she landed right on top of it instead. Domeric grabbed Arya by the neck with his left hand and was about to rip off her wedding dress when he released the frightened child, shoved her to the other side of the bed, and gagged in disgust as Arya felt something cold and wet spread across her groin. The Lone Wolf turned and watched in a mixture of confusion, amusement, and fear as Domeric desperately tried to rub the blood off of his hand...only to realize that he was rubbing his hand on the part of his bed-sheet where Arya had been pinned down right before she started bleeding. As she watched Domeric curse the dried blood and listened to him scream something about feeling "violated," Arya couldn't help wondering if she was the first person to possibly avoid being raped by bleeding on her would-be attacker.

"Even when the blood is gone, I'll feel that...that...that filth on my hand for the rest of my life," wailed Domeric. "Nothing can undo what you just did to me!"

"YOU WERE ABOUT TO RAPE ME!"

"IT'S NOT RAPE IF IT HAPPENS IN A MARRIAGE!"

"YES IT IS!"

"YOU BLED ON ME!"

"I also bled on your bed." Domeric glanced at the blood stain in the middle of the bed and let out an audible gasp.

"Seven Hells, now I have to sleep on the floor. I feel so...so...I feel unclean..."

"You'd better not sleep on the part of the floor by left side of the bed; I'm sleeping there and I chose that spot first!"

"Very well. I'm going to sleep on the part of the floor by the right side of the bed; else you'll probably bleed on me again."

"Seven Hells, it's just a little bit of blood; stop being such a baby about it."

"IT'S BLOOD FROM YOUR...from...from...I can't even say the word," whined Domeric, shivering.

"What do you think Ramsay and Lord Bolton will think about your behavior tonight," asked Arya with a wicked grin. _Help me, you stupid Old Gods! Please let this work!_ Domeric's face paled and the Lone Wolf knew she'd won...for now, at least.

"You can't...I mean...please...please don't, they'll never –"

"The last time I did you a favor; you said you didn't have to repay it. Why should I help you now?"

"If you don't tell anyone about this then...then I'll tell father that was your maidenblood. He won't make me claim my rights –"

"You mean he won't make you rape me?"

"But it's not rape if –"

"Say the stupid word or I'll tell both of them that you almost started crying because you got some of the blood on your hand from when I bled."

"Fine," muttered Domeric. "Father won't make me claim...he won't make me rape you for at least a few months if he thinks I might've gotten you with child tonight. He considers forcing me to do this a necessary evil and won't want to think about it, most like."

"Deal. Only..."

"Only what?"

"If this doesn't work or Lord Bolton doesn't believe you then the deal is off."

"It will work. Father, he...he'll believe me, I think."

"He'd better," growled the Lone Wolf.

...

Domeric was still staring at his right hand like a broken man when a loud noise from outside the room woke Arya from her slumber. *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"GO AWAY," shouted Arya.

"Domeric, you will open this door now," snapped Lord Bolton. The Lone Wolf glanced at her stupid husband and saw that his pale, blue eyes were bloodshot; he'd plainly been up all night gazing at his hand like an idiot. _It's just blood; stop acting like someone just gave you gray scale. How do you ever supposed to lead the North if you let yourself get all worked up about something as stupid as this? I bet I'd make a better Lord than you..._ Domeric did as he was told and the Lord of the Dreadfort stormed into the room, followed by Bran and Ramsay.

"I thought your creature told you the girl was involved."

"Reek doesn't lie, father," insisted Ramsay...a reply which earned the bastard a slap in the face. Lord Snow bore his teeth, but managed – albeit only barely – to keep from slapping his father back. The bastard was so angry that he didn't even notice Domeric rubbing his blood-stained hand on his back. Lord Bolton noticed, but was plainly too focused on other matters to comment.

"And you believed him? Fool. If the girl knew where they were, she would have gone with them, I think."

"But you heard Reek, he said –"

"I thought she ran away with them. I really did! Please don't me angry with me, master," blurted Bran.

"Thought? You told me you were certain just a moment ago. You've just embarrassed me in front of father; what do good Reeks do when they anger their masters."

"I've been bad; I deserve to be punished," wailed Bran. "Please be kind and give me what I deserve, master."

"I don't even know who or what you're talking about, you dumb bastard," snapped Arya.

"SHUT UP, YOU HORSE-FACED CUNT" screamed Ramsay as he kicked The Lone Wolf's kneeling, sobbing brother in the chest.

"Hey! Leave him alone!"

"Reek, ask me to kick you again. Do it. NOW!"

"M-mast-master, p-p-please kick me again."

"As you wish," replied Ramsay with cheerful cruelty as he kicked Bran in the face.

"I SAID LEAVE HIM ALONE!"

"I didn't do anything that Reek didn't ask me to do. I suppose you could even say that I'm making him happier than he ever was when he lived with your family. Isn't that right, Reek?"

"Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! His name is Brandon Stark and he's not your stupid Reek! And Bran is not happy here and he never will be either, so you better stop pretending that he is!"

"That's not what he says. Reek, would you like the bad woman you take you away from your home?" As Reek began sobbing, screaming, and babbling incoherently, it became plain to Arya that if she didn't get Bran to safety soon, she would lose him forever.

"Enough," snapped Lord Bolton. "Your brother Rickon and Theon Greyjoy are both missing from the dungeons. The guards are dead and we searched Lord Manderly's food train before he left. If you know how this situation came to pass, I would advise you to provide me with that information immediately, else I shall be forced to instruct Lord Snow to send his dogs after them. Do you understand?"

"Rickon escaped?"

"The boy cannot prove his identity. It matters not at all, I think."

"I don't know where they are, but even if I did, I wouldn't tell you! Especially not after what you told Domeric to do to me."

"Was the procedure performed properly?"

"It was horrible, but that's none of your stupid –" Lord Bolton glanced at Ramsay and the bastard sent Arya crashing to the ground with a single blow to the belly.

"That was a lie, I think. You do not behave like one who was taken against her will. Domeric, we will speak of your disappointing...performance later. If you should prove unable to put the good of our House ahead of your own selfish desires, I fear I shall be forced to have Ramsay perform this task. What matters is that the world believe the girl's children are your sons. Their actual father matters not at all, I think. I understand these things can take time, so I will give the two of you one month to begin procreating every night on your own initiative until Lady Arya is with child. Do I make myself clear," asked the Lord of the Dreadfort as Bran and Ramsay left the room.

"I'm not a Lady!"

"Yes, father," groaned Domeric.

"Good," replied Lord Bolton, slamming the door behind him.

"Seven Hells, father forced me to marry you which means I can't very well let Ramsay rape you, but I can't disobey him either. Of course, I can't get you with child either without violating our agreement. You've put me in a very unreasonable position, I think." _Unreasonable? UNREASONABLE? I'LL SHOW YOU UNREASONABLE, YOU STUPID...NO! Stay calm! Must stay calm! Domeric might actually listen to his father this time if I yell at him for being such a stupid idiot._

"What...*cough*...what are you going to do," the Lone Wolf asked nervously as she struggled to get up off the ground.

"In truth, I fear I haven't the faintest idea. If father were dead, I'd simply take the black and bring you and your brother with me to the Wall, but since he is alive, that's hardly a viable option, I think," replied Domeric. The Lone Wolf wasn't listening though...not really. Arya knew what she needed to do: _I am going to kill Lord Bolton, mother; you'll see! I'll kill him tonight and then Bran will finally be safe..._


	33. Davos II

**Davos**

"You are Azor Ahai reborn, Your Grace. You have nothing to fear for you are unlike any other man living," insisted the Red Woman. She spoke in a warm whisper that somehow managed to echo through every inch of the throne room. _I don't care what powers that bloody woman does or doesn't have; this is madness!_

"There has to be another way. Do you know what sort of King lights himself on fire? A Mad King. Once I'm dead and buried, men will spit on my grave. They'll call me King Areys III."

"Do you doubt the Lord of Light, Your Grace? He is the one true God and he lives within you, the one true King of Westeros."

"Of course I don't doubt him; no one could...not after the things you showed me in the flames. How can any man deny the truth once he's seen it with his own eyes?"

"The Onion Knight denies the truth, Your Grace. Even now he refuses to recognize the one true God," added the current Lord Florent. Colin Florent – the fourth Lord of Brightwater since the beginning of the War of the Five Kings – was rumored to be a far more tolerant and pragmatic man than the late Lords Allister, Alekayne, and Axell Florent and Davos had briefly hoped he might prove a moderating influence on the Queen's Men. Alas, Lord Colin quickly proved himself to be a man cut from the same greasy cloth as his three predecessors. _At least this one takes after his eldest brother in temperament. If nothing else, he doesn't scream half so much as the late Lord Axell nor does he puff up like a bloated fish at the slightest provocation like his eldest nephew._ Both of Lord Colin's nephews and one of his brothers had perished at the Battle of the Blackwater which meant that he was now the last remaining male member of the Florent bloodline.

"Forgive me, m'Lord, I fear I've always lacked your House's talent for changing faiths the way the rest of us change cloths," countered Davos.

"There are no other faiths, Onion Knight, nor are there any other Gods. I'd try and remember that if I were you."

"Enough," growled the King. "Lord Florent, leave us. And you will not refer to Lord Seaworth as 'Onion Knight.' He is a Lord now and has been for some time. I'd try and remember that if I were you, my Lord."

"As you wish, Your Grace," grunted Lord Florent. The man calmly exited the throne room as the King began to grind his teeth. Once the Lord of Brightwater had left the room, Stannis turned to the Red Woman. "Go on, my Lady."

"There is nothing more to say that you do not already know, Your Grace. You are Azor Ahai reborn; you have nothing to fear from wildfire so long as you do not doubt the power of the one true God. The Lord of Light will protect his champion, but your rebirth will not be complete until you've been reborn in fire."

"The flames, they...she says they will cleanse your soul," added Selyse.

"Your Grace, this is madness," blurted the Onion Knight.

"Is that what you think, Lord Seaworth? That I have become a Mad King who would see his subjects burn while his kingdom bleeds?"

"He damns himself with his own mouth. You heard how he mocked the one true God! He should have been burned a long time ago...and he the Lord of Light won't bring back that sinner either," snapped the Queen.

"Quiet. I will not see the only useful member of the Small Council burn. Some here may have forgotten how he once came to be known as the Onion Knight, but I have not."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Spare me your thanks, Lord Seaworth, I asked you a question and I would have it answered now."

"No, Your Grace. I think you are the King; the one true King and the only man living who is fit to rule the seven kingdoms."

"Good. Now let the Lady Melisandre finish speaking."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

"Lord Davos speaks of that which he cannot understand and men always fear what they do not understand, Your Grace. Even so, the Lord of Light has made it plain that we will need him during the war to come...the only war that matters. You must have complete faith in the Lord of Light, Your Grace. He lit a path that you as his champion must needs follow...wherever it may lead and no matter what the cost. He has given you Lightbringer, seated you upon the Iron Throne, protected you from Lord Allister and other would-be traitors, he has slain those who refuse to bend the knee to their King such as Robb Stark and Tywin Lannister and the Lord of Light will continue to do so in the future. All he asks in return is that we follow him without question when the time comes. Some men may be no more than soldiers in his army, but you are so much more, Your Grace. You are his champion and he has shown us the wildfire hidden beneath this city for a reason. If you do not complete your rebirth by giving yourself over completely to the flames then the darkness will return to Westeros once more and this time, the Long Night will never end...not unless you follow the path the Lord of Light has chosen for you." _Can she truly be so mad as to ask His Grace to destroy Westero's last hope...its only hope...for peace by setting himself aflame. After all the men who have fought, bled, and died to seat him upon the Iron Throne..._ Stannis ground his teeth for what felt like an eternity finally replying to the madwoman. Even Lord Celtigar and Lord Velaryon were plainly horrified by the insanity unfolding before them...not that either man had the courage to say so.

"Very well. If there is truly no other way then I shall do as you have asked without fear or doubt." _NO!_ "Great or small, every man has his duty and none of us have the luxury of choosing our destinies besides...not even Kings. It is the duty of every man in the Seven Kingdoms to obey me in all the things when called upon to do so just as it is my duty to defend them from all enemies."

"Your Grace, we've only recently secured the backing of the Crownlands Lords. Even if you survive, men like Lord Rosby will abandon your cause if you do this."

"Those traitors should be grateful that I did not put all of their heads on spikes where they belong. I will not bend over backward for what is mine by rights nor will I abandon my subjects to appease a pack of fools who have spent the war dancing from one camp to the next. It is the duty of every man in the Seven Kingdoms to obey me in all the things when called upon to do so just as it is my duty to defend them from all enemies."

"And what of your family, Your Grace? This could cause the deaths of Queen Selyse and the Princess Shireen. There are more and more Sparrows in the capitol every day. A man calling himself the High Sparrow has begun organizing those bloody fanatics and agitating against your rule. If you should perish in this wretched ritual, how long do you think it will be before the mobs descend upon the Red Keep and kill every Baratheon they can find?"

"I will not perish, my Lord. And you would do well not to presume to lecture me on how to protect my family ever again. No man has that right," the King coldly replied.

"Very well, Your Grace. All the same, I beg of you, don't do this thing," pled Davos even as he knew his efforts were in vain. "Most of Westeros is under the thumb of one traitor or another. These men have made your kingdom bleed and they will continue doing still until you stop them. Not even the guest right is scared to these animals. Mace Tyrell –"

"Lord Tyrell," grunted Stannis. "Whatever else he may be, the man is still a Lord."

"Begging your pardon, Your Grace. Lord Tyrell violated the sacred laws of hospitality by murdering his so-called allies at his own daughter's wedding. Now he controls the Westerlands and the Reach. The Late Lord Walder of House Frey and Lord Bolton murdered the man they once called their King. Now one of the former's sons rules the Riverlands and the latter has named his son the King in the North. House Arryn's words are 'As High as Honor' and yet Lady Lysa broke the guest right when she executed Your Grace's previous Hand. No one has been able to make contact with any of the Dornish Houses, so far as I know, but I don't imagine they're likely to bend the knee of their own accord either."

"The realm is full of traitors, Lord Davos; what of it?"

"The realm needs you now more than ever."

"And that is why I must do the only thing a good man can when faced with his duty. The realm will still have its rightful King, but I will emerge from the flames as something greater...something that can defeat The Enemy when he comes...and make no mistake, he is coming for all of us. I've seen it with my own eyes..."

"But –"

"When I burned the bastard Joffrey Waters and his mother to the Lord of Light, the Red Woman asked him to accept my sacrifice and kill the false King Robb Stark and the late Lord Tywin Lannister. Look at what has happened since then, Lord Seaworth. Tywin Lannister is dead. Robb Stark is dead. The Lord of Light rewarded my faith then and he shall do so again tonight."

"Aye, they're both dead, Your Grace...only it wasn't the Red Woman's fire God that killed them nor her blood magic. They were both killed at weddings by treasonous Lords from within their own ranks who have shown no greater inclination to bend the knee than the men they killed. Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but if that's the reward for your faith in this so-called Lord of Light then it is a decidedly hollow one."

"Enough. I've made my decision, Lord Davos. We'll speak no more of this, is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

...

It was so dark out that even the moon offered precious little light. Before long, the once peaceful evening winds began to howl like a screaming child being ripped from its mother's breast. Small waves hurled themselves towards the shore of Blackwater Bay, only to dissipate at the last second...and even then, the water was near as choppy as it was murky. Of course, that last part could've just been on account of the poor visibility.

In truth, one could be forgiven for mistaking the weather for some sort of divine warning against the blasphemous ritual that was about to occur. The only thing missing was a thunderstorm; other than that it was as though nature itself were doing all it could to signal its displeasure. Despite his mounting dread...despite his certainty that the King's chosen course could end only in a senseless tragedy from which the realm might never recover, the cruel irony of the present situation was not lost on the Onion Hand. The last time Davos stood on the shore of Blackwater Bay with Stannis Baratheon – the man to whom he owed everything he had and everything that he would ever be – was the morning after the King's greatest victory: The Battle of Blackwater Bay. His Grace had taken King's Landing from the bastard, Joffrey Waters, and for a short time the Onion Hand had even dared to hope that it might force Tywin Lannister and his allies to sue for peace. Then reality set in...

For all the King's determination to put an end to the corruption that had infected the capitol – and no man could doubt His Grace's sincerity on this matter – even Davos couldn't deny that very little had changed. There were new faces, to be sure, but that only meant that the Lannisters and Varys' of the world were replaced by Florents and Celitgars. A man may trade yellow pus for green pus, but the infection will kill him all the same. Before long, the Sparrows began rioting in the streets and demanding the Red Woman's execution after word got out that she'd nearly convinced King Stannis to burn the Sept of Baelor. _Sparrows. Nothing but a mob of lunatics so far as I can tell._ Once some old man known as the High Sparrow began organizing the bloody fanatics, the Onion Hand found that the city of King's Landing itself oft seemed to have mobilized against its King. And of course, the war showed no sign of winding down on any front. Worst of all, Davos found that the King did not listen to him near as often as he once did after the disaster at the Eyrie. It became near impossible to curtail the Red Woman's influence after that and soon some men even began to whisper that she ruled through the King.

The Onion Hand and Lords Velaryon, Celtigar, and Florent all watched in horror – each man taking great care to keep a safe distance – as the King strode out into Blackwater, the Red Woman following closely behind him. Even Selyse looked as though she were beginning to doubt the wisdom of her husband's decision as she watched several soldiers tie him to a wooden pyre. At the King's request, one soldier stabbed him in the belly four times so that he would die if any attempt were made to halt the ritual before its completion. The very ground upon which the one true King had achieved his greatest triumph would also be the site of his destruction; Davos could feel it in his bones. And yet, there was nothing the Onion Hand could do to save the only man capable of saving Westeros. Stannis had ordered him not to interfere and a loyal man had only one available course of action when given a direct order by his King. In the past, there had oft been orders whose wording left loopholes which could be exploited while still technically honoring the letter of the law, but this was not one of those times.

There was a bright flash of light across the cold, cloudy sky followed by the thunder that was missing only a moment ago. *CRASH* Suddenly, the Onion Hand heard a terrible noise which could've been a ship smashing into jagged rocks somewhere off in the distance...or it could've been the wind. In truth, it was impossible to say quite what the noise was as it went away after a few seconds. The winds died down as the Red Woman began chanting in some sort of strange language and the ruby around her neck began to glow so brightly that it seemed to light up the entire shore. Shireen began crying and the Onion Knight had to grab her tightly to keep her from bolting over to her father as the flames began licked her father's skin. Davos held the frightened child close to him, determined to ensure that the poor girl didn't see her father burn. He could do that much, if little else. In truth, Davos couldn't bring himself to watch and had to close his eyes not long afterward. If anyone was watching, they were in shock, most like. Even the Red Woman had stopped chanting.

The Onion Hand did not open his eyes for quite some time although it was impossible to say just how long. When he did open them, the first thing Davos saw was that Princess...no, Queen...Shireen was still holding on to him as though her life depended upon it and sobbing uncontrollably. _Selyse is only a Dowager Queen now; there'll be a Regent, most like. May the Seven save the Queen; she's the last person here who deserves to have anything to do with this mess._ The second thing he saw was Selyse kneeling and wailing by her husband's body...which showed no sign of having been even slightly burned.

"Stay here...and promise me you won't look unless I tell you to," whispered Davos as he gently pried himself out of the Queen's arms.

"I promise," sniffled the poor child.

In the end, the Red Woman appeared to have been right after all. The flames did not burn the King, so mayhaps he was Azor Adoni – or whatever the bloody name was – reborn. Alas, the flames did not protect him from steel. While he was being reborn in the flames, the King bled to death from the wounds he'd ordered his own soldiers to inflict upon him to force himself to go through with the ritual. For once, the Red Woman had nothing to say; she simply stared at Stannis Baratheon's lifeless body in a state of shock. She didn't even respond when Lord Celitgar began demanding her execution for "murdering His Grace with blasphemous blood magic."

"You, Onion Knight...err...Onion Hand," shouted Lord Florent as several soldiers dragged the Dowager Queen away. The poor woman was still wailing unconsolably and had plainly gone mad with grief, at least for the time being. Even though the woman had been trying to have him burned for quite some time, the Onion Hand found that he couldn't help pitying her although he didn't feel half so sorry for her as he did for the 13 year-old who would now sit upon the Iron Throne. I wouldn't wish that upon anyone, not now... Davos cautiously approached Lords Celtigar, Velaryon, and Florent.

"As you know," continued Lord Florent, "the three of us have always had the utmost respect for you, Lord Seaworth. That is why we believe you should serve as the Queen's Regent until Her Grace comes of age. It is known how much the King trusted you and none of us can think of a better man for the job. Naturally, we shall do our utmost to assist you in any manner necessary from Dragonstone." _You mean you want me to be the wicked counselor the smallfolk and our enemies can blame when this all comes crashing down while you sail away to safety._

"C-C-C-Can I open...open...c-can...can I...can I open my...my eyes n-n-now," whimpered Shireen right as Davos was about tell Lord Florent where he could stick the Regency. As much as the Onion Hand wanted to flee the city while there was still time, he found that he couldn't bring himself to leave that frightened, innocent child to certain death alone. And he couldn't possibly make a greater hash of it than this pack of cravens besides.

"In a moment, Your Grace."

"What? Why...why did you c-call...call me that?"

"Very well. For the sake of Her Grace, I will serve as Regent if that is the Small Council's wish. Lord Velaryon and Lord Celtigar, the two of you may sail for Dragonstone tonight if you wish. Lord Florent, my first act as Regent shall be to name you Hand of the Queen. I'm afraid I'll have to insist that you remain here in the capitol." As terrible as the present situation may've been, it took all the Onion Regent's self-restraint to keep from smirking as he watched the color drain from Lord Florent's face.


	34. Qyburn II

**Qyburn**

"Forgive me, my Lord, but I fear that I cannot call you 'Your Grace.' I'm afraid the King Beyond the Wall is the only one whom I'm permitted to address by that title. It would be disrespectful to treat you as though you were his equal," Qyburn calmly informed the one-eyed fool as they approached one of the towering Mereenese pyramids.

"Tell me, old man, does it truly not bother you in the least that I'm going to cut out your tongue and drown you once we finish our first visit with this so-called King of the Night? After all, I can't imagine he'll have any further need of a senile errand boy once we finally meet face-to-face," countered Euron with a yawn. _It might if there was any reason to think you'd survive the encounter. What use could a creature as old and wise as time itself possibly have for the likes you?_

"His Grace and I have an arrangement. You have one with the King Beyond the Wall too, if I'm not mistaken, my Lord. Of course, I'd be happy to send one of his birds with a message informing him that you are unsatisfied with the terms he presented you." For a few seconds, Euron Greyjoy's eye seemed to shine a touch less brightly. _Even this fool is smart enough to fear His Grace._

"No, that...that won't be necessary."

"I didn't think so," muttered Qyburn.

"As I said, I'll deal with this so-called King of yours once we meet in person."

"No doubt, my Lord." _Can this one truly be mad enough to challenge the King Beyond the Wall? I suppose if he's fool enough to believe the Others will have any further use for him once he's completed his task, anything's possible. Why is it that I so oft find myself forced to share the company of boorish men like Euron Greyjoy and Vargo Hoat who lack even the faintest appreciation for the significance of my work? Oh they may enjoy hacking off a limb here or cutting out a tongue there, to be sure, but only as a means of inspiring fear._

 _It is one thing to carefully remove a man's organs while he is alive in order to determine which are of vital importance and which can be safely removed if infected, but it is quite another to mutilate a man just to make a point or worse yet, simply to indulge one's most primitive desires. Silently suffering the excesses of ungrateful, ignorant fools is the learned man's burden. I fear genius is never truly appreciated in its own time, but mayhaps that will change once the King Beyond the Wall fulfills his part of our bargain... After all, it's not every day that a man discovers the secret to achieving immortality._

 _It matters not at all who unlocks that door for me. In the end, all anyone will care about are the limitless possibilities that I may grant any man fortunate enough to count me as his friend. Lord Bolton never saw my work as anything other than a mildly diverting amusement, I see that now, but soon he shall rue the day he broke faith with me. Even the Maesters will come crawling on hand and knee, begging me to share my knowledge with them. They'll beg me to forgive them for failing to appreciate the significance of my work and will leap at the chance to aid all of my future scientific endeavors._ It was a pleasing notion, to say the least and Qyburn felt his soft, withered lips curl into a small smile. While the former Maester oft tried to suppress any emotions that could interfere with his work, in truth, even a learned man could benefit from a pang of genuine happiness every now and then...

It was an exquisite dream, to be sure...and if suffering a blue-lipped sea-ape for a few more weeks was the only way to make it a reality, then so be it. _I suppose one must needs make sacrifices from time to time and The King Beyond the Wall gave very specific instructions besides. In truth, they couldn't have come at a better time. My priorities were not what they should've been; I fear my I briefly let myself get distracted from my work. How could one child possibly be so difficult to kill?_

It had been maddening to see how Lord Bolton's bastard kept eluding him. Somehow the bloody child managed to succeed where countless men had failed and kill Lord Vargo...at least if Lord Bolton was to be believed. The former Maester had managed to have the child's food poisoned on one occasion, but apparently one of the servants in Harrenhal's kitchens simply had to chose that night to steal food from her bloody plate as he was delivering it. _It should've been her body lying dead on the stone floor with a purple face twisted in pain and spending her final moments trying to claw open her own throat._ Just thinking about the Bastard of Bolton was enough to make Qyburn grind his remaining teeth in frustration. _Aside from requesting that I discreetly dispose of some armorer's apprentice for him, Lord Bolton showed no interest of any sort in my work after Lord Vargo's death. I must confess that I seldom get such well-built young men around his age to use as subjects, but even so..._

 _At least Lord Bolton still had time for me on a few rare occasions prior to the failed poisoning. Afterward, he brought the bastard with him almost everywhere although judging by her behavior, I doubt he ever told the girl about the incident._ On one occasion, Lord Bolton had forced even forced the former Maester to take precious time away form his work to clean Nan Snow after the bastard bled for the first time. _Pity. I had such hopes for the man..._ The former Maester let out a quiet sigh of disappointment.

Shortly after Lord Bolton and his baseborn brat left Harrenhal, a blue-eyed raven arrived with new instructions from the King Beyond the Wall. His Grace's commands were carefully organized in a step-by-step manner; this further bolstered Qyburn's confidence in his new patron. The King Beyond the Wall provided detailed instructions about how to reach Myr in the quickest and safest way. Upon arrival, the former Maester was to meet up with two men. The first was some half-crazed, one-eyed Greyjoy with delusions of grandeur who had been exiled to Essos and had his own limited communications with the King Beyond the Wall using some sort of strange magic he learned in Asshai. The second was a Qarthi warlock named Pyat Pree who seldom spoke, but apparently had some sort of obsessive hatred of Daenerys Targaryen, the woman whom His Grace's instructions concerned. 

_I shall never understand the foolishness of my fellow man. How could a mere mortal, even one with an army and three dragons at her disposal, ever hope to thwart the will of The King Beyond the Wall? Of course, if His Grace's last message is to be believed, the woman has already managed to lose control of two of the dragons just as he said she would. Everything is falling into place exactly the way His Grace promised._ Once the work had been completed, Pyat Pree would use his magic to transport the former Maester and the one-eyed Greyjoy all the way from Meereen to Myr where there would theoretically be a small ship to waiting to take Euron and Qyburn to Pyke. The King Beyond the Wall had indicated that they would encounter a dragon not far from Pyke and that Euron was to use some sort of horn to bring the beast under his control. The former Maester glanced and Pyat Pree.

"Tell me, how is it that you are able to transport yourselves and others across such great distances? I imagine it must be a fascinating –"

"Secret. I will be there when it is time," grunted the Warlock, looking at Qyburn as though he were a cockroach scurrying across the floor of some abandoned kitchen.

"It speaks," chuckled Euron.

"You speak too much," replied the Warlock before disappearing into thin air. The one-eyed fool frowned and turned his attention to his only remaining companion. "I've had a bit of a change of heart where you're concerned, old man. Did you know that?"

"A fascinating epiphany, I'm sure."

"'Epiphany?' What did you just call me?"

"My Lord, I wasn't calling you anything. An epiphany is...you don't really care what the word means, do you," sighed the former Maester. _As ever, I find myself surrounded by small-minded fools. Mayhaps this one will become a Maester some day. Say what you will about Euron Greyjoy, but the man certainly has the requisite lack of intellectual curiosity to serve as Grand Maester. I dare say the man has missed his calling._

"No, I most certainly do not care what any of your useless words mean. How very astute of you to notice; mayhaps you're not half so foolish as you look although I must confess that is a rather low bar. Now where were we? Ah, yes, now I remember! You called me 'my Lord' again. I, in my infinite wisdom, have decided that if you call me that again I'll kill you where you stand. The Crimson King –"

"'The Night's King' is the proper term although His Grace prefers to be addressed as The King Beyond the Wall, at least while that ancient structure is still standing..."

"Close enough; now don't interrupt me again. As I was saying, I don't give a flaming fuck what the Sun King told you to call him. He is going to give me dominion over everything south of The Neck. That means I will be a King and...well...as the rightful King of the Iron Islands, I suppose I'm already a King. You will refer to me as 'His Grace' or 'Your Grace,' is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Grace," sighed Qyburn. _Another day, another humiliation at the hands of a lesser man..._

"That's better. Now then, I believe we are due for an audience with a so-called Queen and her dragons. We wouldn't want to miss it, would we? Do you think our friend beyond the Wall would mind if I fuck this royal slut before killing her?"

"I fear he would object, Your Grace. We are on an extremely tight schedule and there is no time to waste on such follies." Euron's eye seemed to shine with anger and for a moment, Qyburn thought the blue-lipped fool was going to strike him. Fortunately, the brute managed to calm himself down without resorting to senseless violence.

"Very well. For a few coppers, I can bury my cock in some other hole in the ground later. It's for the best, most like. I'll wager there are finer cunts for sale in the Myrish whorehouses anyway." _Quite the romantic, aren't we?_

...

A Maester might've looked at the interior of the largest Meereenese pyramid and thought that the so-called Dragon Queen and her counselors were safe. Grand Maester Pycelle would've lost his nerve, fallen to his knees, and begged for mercy the moment he saw the army of guards. Of course, most Maesters did not understand that there were some types of knowledge...some powers which could not be understood through the narrow lens of widely accepted scientific conventional wisdom. Archmaester Marwyn was the only one whose instincts led him to explore that which he did not yet understand instead of fearing it, but even he lacked the inner-strength to truly dedicate himself to the pursuit of knowledge. _Pity. Archmaester Marwyn had the right instincts. At least he acknowledged that my hypothesis about the false finality of death was worth investigating which is more than can be said for the other grey sheep of the Citadel. The rest were elderly fools too frightened by their own shadows to ever dream an impossible dream. It is of the utmost importance that any man who would unravel life's great mysteries remain open to the possibility that the answer will not necessarily be something he knew to be possible._

 _Of course, not even Archmaester Marwyn was willing to do all that was necessary to conquer death. I fear he'd never set aside such restrictive distractions as emotional attachments, conventional morality, love, loyalty, empathy, and honor. Most of the great medical discoveries were made by men like me. Deep down, the Maesters are grateful for our existance...not that they'd ever admit it, of course. Oh they'll happily enjoy the fruits of a learned man's labors, but will they thank him for it? No. I fear the most consequential medical discoveries do not come gift-wrapped in some neat and tidy package. You cannot conquer death or eradicate a terrible plague unless you truly commit yourself to doing whatever is necessary. If tens, hundreds, or even thousands of innocents must needs suffer slow and painful deaths so that the rest of us may live our lives as wiser men, so be it. After all, how can you learn how long you have to safe a wounded man's life before he bleeds to death without first watching a man of roughly the same age die from a similar wound and recording how long it takes him to bleed out._

 _And my subjects are of little consequence besides. What could most smallfolk do in life that would outweigh the knowledge I can gain by experimenting on them. At least this way their deaths will matter, which is more than most men can say. And an experiment fails due to some unforeseen complication...well...if at first you don't succeed, try, try again. After all, even minor medical breakthroughs are seldom made without considerable trial and error. Such is the nature of scientific experimentation_ , Qyburn reminded himself as he took another look at the stone-faced men lining the walls of the pyramid like ants swarming over a chocolate plum.

 _The pyramid certainly doesn't lack for guards, but what use are mere soldiers against powers most men could only dream of? Teleportation, self-duplication, and the Gods alone know what else... If only the Warlock didn't guard his order's secrets so carefully...not that I blame him for doing so. Naturally, that one-eyed fool is fascinated by the idea that a man could fight in battle despite lacking that which makes him a man. If all goes as planned, we will be the first Westrosi men to experience teleportation and all Euron cares about is the possible existence of a cockless army. Small things amuse small minds, I suppose._ _Will he introduce himself to The King Beyond the Wall by asking how Others reproduce_ , the former Maester wondered, rolling his eyes. _Then again, the answer might be of some scientific value. After all, a different species might have it's own method of procreation. I wonder..._

As the two men were escorted into the throne room, Qyburn glanced at the men flanking the false Queen Daenerys Targaryen. _The woman isn't even a real Targaryen, most like. She has the Targaryen look, but even so, this so-called Queen is probably little more than an impostor with dyed hair. I suppose it matters not at all._ Standing to the so-called Queen's left was a bald, powder-faced man who carried himself like a woman. To her right, was a man who – if his sigil was to be believed – had to be Ser Barristan Selmy, of all people. _What's he doing here?_

"I'm told you've come from Westeros to bend the knee," said the false Queen with a smug, self-satisfied air not unlike that which Euron Greyjoy himself possessed.

"Not quite. Of course, I was told you kept three dragons with you at all times and that's not true either, is it?" _It shouldn't be more than another minute or two until...hmm...the powder-faced man. He suspects us of something already,_ Qyburn realized. The former Maester glanced at the guards and for a moment he could've sworn they'd moved slightly closer, but that thought disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. _I fear the years are taking their toll; it would seem that my mind has begun playing tricks on me. How could they know our intentions? Even so, the bald one is planning something, that much is certain. I wonder..._

"Two of them flew off. First Viserion and then Drogon not long afterwards," grunted Ser Barristan. _What's taking that Warlock so long? He should be here by now or rather, about five or six of him should be here by now. I like this not at all. Seven Hells, the guards are definitely moving towards us. Slowly and in complete unison, to be sure, but they're inching closer. Worse, they've already put a bolt over the door to the throne room. This is a trap...it...it has to be...it's not fair. I was so close and...I...I can't die now...not when there's still so much work to be done. The lisping Goat of Harrenhal. The Leech Lord. The Bastard of Bolton. Urswyck the Faithless. A one-eyed fool too blind to see death even as it approaches us at this very moment. I've suffered countless humiliations at each of their hands to learn what The King Beyond the Wall would tell me. Was it all for nothing?_ Qyburn cursed Vargo Hoat, Roose Bolton, Nan Snow, Urswyck the Faithful, Euron Greyjoy, and everyone else whose excesses and undesirable traits he'd suffered in silence over the course of his life. The former Maester could almost see everything he'd ever worked towards slipping through his fingers mere moments before completion.

"And the third dragon? What of him," inquired Euron, ignoring Qyburn's nervous glances and bitter glares.

"Rhaegal...there was a village and...and he..." For a moment, the false Targaryen's face seemed to soften and resembled that of a mother mourning the death of a newborn. There was even a faint hint of guilt in the so-called Queen's voice when she said that nonsensical name. _Rhaegal. What kind of name is that? I suppose it is better than 'Drogon,' if nothing else. Then again, I've never understood the point of naming – or keeping – pets. Animals should simply be referred to as 'test subject one,' 'test subject two,' etc._ For a few seconds, her mind was not in a Meereenese pyramid, but in some distant, unknown place...somewhere that was plainly a source of great pain for the woman calling herself Daenerys Targaryen. However, her face quickly grew hard as stone and her violet eyes seemed to burn with an anger that wasn't there before.

"Tick-tock. I don't have all bloody day," whined the one-eyed fool with a melodramatic yawn. _The guards aren't even that far away anymore, you fool. Haven't you noticed that they've been moving closer and closer? Does he some sort of death wish?_

"I did not grant you and your...traveling companion an audience to discuss my children. I merely wished to see whether or not either of you would confess to your crimes on your own once upon realizing the folly of your plot. Lord Varys told me that you were seen communicating with a Qarthi Warlock. The Warlocks of Qarth have already tried to assassinate me on one occasion and they failed then...just as they will fail today. If you confess to your crimes and name any other conspirators, I will consider simply exiling the first of you to do so from Meereen. Or I could always let Rhaegal decide what to do with the two of you."

Suddenly, Euron began laughing uncontrollably and Qyburn breathed a sigh of relief. At precisely that moment, several Pyat Prees – three in total – appeared behind the false Targaryen and her two advisors wielding a small blade.

"I confess," whispered the Pree standing behind the so-called Queen before opening her throat at precisely the moment that the other two Prees did the same to the powdered man and Ser Barristan. All three of the Warlock's victims were dead before anyone in the pyramid had a chance to react. The three Prees then vanished into thin air as quickly as they'd arrived and two more appeared behind Euron and Qyburn, grabbing them, and disappeared once more.

In truth, Qyburn initially had no intention of keeping his promise to Pyat Pree about asking The King Beyond the Wall to spare the Qarthi Warlocks in exchange for transporting his servants to Myr after the execution of the one mortal whom His Grace deemed a threat...although the former Maester couldn't imagine what threat a false Targaryen could pose. However, after seeing just what the Warlocks were capable of, Qyburn began to reconsider. _Mayhaps I will ask to keep a few alive as captives for further study..._


	35. Bran V and Roose II

**Bran | Roose**

 **Bran**

*KNOCK* *KNOCK* *KNOCK* "Father, I know you're in there! Open the bloody door," Lord Ramsay roared. The door to Lord Bolton's solar, apparently unimpressed, didn't offer so much as a creek in reply. While it hurt Reek to see his master so angry, he knew it was for the best. No matter how angry being ignored made Master, both Reek and Bran had learned long ago that it was always worse when he actually spoke with Lord Bolton. No one could force Lord Ramsay to hurt you the way Lord Bolton could, that much was certain.

For his part, Bran's thoughts were elsewhere...somewhere far away from the Boltons, although he was much closer to them than in the last dragon dream. Of late, the dreams had become far more frequent and Bran was grateful for that, if little else. The dreams were the one time when he always completely free of Reek. In the dreams, he was not a cripple, but a great and terrible force of nature that could reduce even the mightiest castle to ashes on a whim. In fact, he'd done just that to the entire island of Skagos last night. The dream world was different and no matter what the Boltons did to Bran while he was awake, nothing could stop him from flying to the Dreadfort on some cold, bitter night and burning the dreadful place to the ground in his dreams. It wouldn't be real, but it would be a beautiful dream and it gave Bran something to live for besides.

The best part about the dragon dreams was that Bran wasn't forced to crawl around on the floor like a giant, two-armed slug. The oldest living son of Ned and Catelyn Stark could fly and there was nothing Ramsay or even Reek could do to take that from him. _Stop thinking about d-d-dragons, Brandon. Master will hear you and then he'll have to hurt us. Mas...I mean...Ramsay can't read our minds, Reek. He'll know! But – NO! HE'LL KNOW!_

 _He'll hurt us anyway no matter what we do and I like thinking about my dragon dreams besides. You can't make me stop having them! DON'T THINK ABOUT THEM WHILE YOU'RE AWAKE! Please, Brandon, you...you don't...you can't know how much it hurts when you anger Master. I'm the one who gets hurt, not you; I...I keep you safe. Okay, Reek, if I agree to only think about dragons at night then you have to let me talk to our sister in return when Ramsay isn't around._

It was hard living with Reek, but in truth, it had gotten far easier of late. Reek could be overpowering and any man who tried to resist him would inevitably be destroyed sooner or later. Of course, there were other ways to handle Reek. If you accepted Reek's existence and treated him as an extension of your own self, peaceful co-existence was possible as Bran Stark had learned much to his relief. However, this required constant and ever-changing negotiations and mutual respect for wide variety of different boundaries.

 _But B-Bran – But, what, Reek? Master says your sister is very bad and Lord Ramsay, he knows everything and...and...NO! I...I won't allow it! We can't betray Master like that; I won't! NEVER! He...he loves us so much and it would break his heart when he saw how much we'd forced him to hurt us. How can you even think such a thing after everything Master has done for us? He even lets us crawl on the floor instead of being carried. You let me talk to my sister again and I'll stop spending the daytime thinking about a dragon toasting Ramsay to a crisp and eating him alive over and over again. That's the deal; take it or leave it! OKAY. Fine. Get Master's good and loyal Reek hurt again. You're always making Master hurt me, Bran._ *KNOCK* *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"I SAID OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, FATH –" Suddenly, the door swung open and within seconds Lord Bolton had his son pinned against the wall. The Leech Lord was holding a knife to Ramsay's throat. For once, the Lord of the Dreadfort was not in control of his emotions, that much was certain. Lord Bolton's pale, blue eyes resembled two swirling balls of rage both of which were just one wrong word away from flying out of their sockets. Lord Bolton's features were contorted with fear and fury; in truth, he resembled an animal in the midst of a fight or flight reaction than he did a man.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT? I WILL OPEN YOUR THROAT RIGHT...right this...I...I fear I must needs beg your indulgence," seethed the Lord of the Dreadfort, releasing his dumbstruck son. "I fear I haven't been myself since the Starkling escaped. It was only a momentary lapse, I think." For a moment, Bran and Reek could've even sworn that there was genuine fear in Lord Bolton's eyes. The Lord of the Dreadford would show anger from time to time and on rare occasions even a strange sort of weariness, but true fear...that was something new. "No doubt, Rickon Stark on his way to White Harbor as we speak. I had everyone and everything bound for White Harbor searched five times, but there was still no sign of the Starkling. I fear you were right about killing the boy, Ramsay."

"I...I was right? About what?"

"Yes, I should've killed Rickon Stark the moment it became clear that he would not be as...cooperative as that creature of yours." _Fuck you too, you pale-skinned piece of shit! Not so loud! Master will hear you and...and he'll..._ "In truth, you are my son and I should have kept your counsel as well as Domeric's, I think. Mayhaps I should give you another chance to prove yourself worthy of the Bolton name. If you can devise a way to capture and kill Rickon Stark before word of his survival spreads, I shall acknowledge you as my son. I trust you are capable of this task. Of course, if not, then I suppose Domeric could –"

"No, I...I can...thank you, father. In a few days, I'll hunt down the little shit and feed him to my dogs."

"See that you do. Oh and one more thing, you will not speak of this to Lady Arya. I would not see you taunt my good-daughter with Rickon Stark's death. The girl shall be permitted to spend the rest of her days believing that at least one Stark is safe from harm and leading some semblance of a happy life, if that is her wish. If I ever so much as suspect you of mentioning Rickon's death to her or instructing your...creature to do so for you, it will cost you every remaining toe on your left foot. Is that understood?" _Why does Lord Bolton care whether or not Arya knows if Rickon is dead?_

"Fuck you," whispered Lord Ramsay through clenched teeth as shock and gratitude gave way to bitter hatred.

"What was that?"

"I said 'yes, father.'"

"I suppose I should be thankful that you still fear me enough to lie. Else I'd have to kill you before you disposed of the Starkling and then where would I be? Right back where I started, I think."

...

 **Roose**

The Lord of the Dreadfort silently studied the miserable excuse for a family bickering before him like spoiled children whose sole purpose in life was to ruin his dinner. The present argument concerned the second Reek...Brandon Stark...or whatever name had been decided upon for that repulsive creature. _At least no one would believe that one was ever a Stark even if all three of his remaining siblings identified him. I suppose that's one less thing to worry about..._

"Bran? Please, it...it's okay, no one will hurt you if you answer to your real –"

"Don't be ridiculous, dear sister, of course I'll hurt Reek if he answers to a false name."

"I'm NOT your stupid sister and his name is Brandon, not Reek. He's my brother, so you'd better stop pretending –"

"His name is Reek," snarled Ramsay. Rather than attempt to bring either his wife or his pet to heel, Domeric simply buried his face in his hands. As for the bastard's abomination, he seemed content to stick an index finger in each ear and close his eyes. _Seven Hells, what difference does it make what that wretched creature is called? Surely the girl isn't fool enough to think that calling my bastard's crawling dog "Brandon" will cause it to forget its training. In truth, it matters not at all. If that...thing shows any sign of still knowing who it is, I fear I shall be forced to kill it first thing tomorrow morning._

"Shut up!"

"Make me!" _Kill me now! In truth, that is a rather foolish request. I fear the Old Gods are far too cruel to ever allow me to escape these children in such a manner. In truth, if neither of my children have proven themselves worthy of the Bolton name after everything I've done to them, I fear they never will. I have been far too lenient with Domeric, I think._

"You'd better leave my brother alone!" _And here one can see Lady Arya's limitations; no matter how many redeeming features a member of the weaker sex may have, in the end she shall still governed by her emotions. Whatever else can be said about Lady Arya, she is no exception in that regard, I think. Had she not impulsively indulged her illogical need for some sort of surrogate parental figure, controlling her would've proven far more difficult. Pity. If she were born a Bolton and of the right sex, mayhaps the child could've become a worthy heir. Of course, a few adjustments would be necessary..._

"Hmm...that's odd, I still seem to be able to talk whenever I want. Wait a minute, let's try something else, shall we?" Ramsay slapped his pet in the face, knocking the useless sack of flesh out of its chair. "Well now isn't that a mystery for the ages? I just hit Reek after you told me not to and I've never felt better in my life. My hand certainly didn't fall off as far as I can see."

"I could easily arrange that for you," Domeric muttered. The bastard glared at his brother, but it was plain that even Lord Snow knew better than to treat this remark as an idle threat. Instead, he simply continued taunting the red-faced child who had stopped biting her lip and had begun silently staring at the bastard. In truth, the Lord of the Dreadfort found it oddly pleasing to see that his good-daughter had remembered the way she'd been trained to look at her enemies at Harrenhal.

"How strange...it's almost as though I don't care what you say because you're just a helpless little brat who'd do well to shut her cunt mouth before someone decides to shut it for her. What do you think, Arya? Could it be that I'll hurt Reek any time I have cause to do so and that there's simply nothing you'll ever be able to do about it? Oh dear, have I upset you?"

"I order you to shut your stupid mouth right now and never call my brother Reek ever again," shouted Arya, stabbing the table with her spoon. _I suppose it was folly to expect a member of the weaker sex, much less a child, to possess the self-control necessary to simply stare at someone without ever replying. In truth, this could prove amusing, if nothing else. More importantly, I fear I'm still no closer to capturing the Stark boy. The bastard cannot be relied upon, I think._

"What did you say? Did...did you just give me a...did you just...did you just give me a command," stammered Lord Snow, plainly too shocked to fully process what he'd just heard. Of course, this only meant the inevitable explosion of anger would be that much more violent, most like.

"I gave you two commands, stupid. One of them was to stop talking, but I'm sure you didn't mean to disobey my orders. You probably just...forgot your place is all. Let me explain to you how things are going to work from now on, idiot. The only good thing about being a stupid Bolton is that it means you have to do whatever I say. Do you know why? You don't? That's okay, I'll give you a hint. It's because I'm a stupid Bolton and you're just some dumb bastard." _This is a trick of some sort, most like and yet even so... If Lady Arya comes to believe that her authority exceeds the bastard's so long as she identifies as a Bolton, mayhaps in time she will forget that it's just an act. I suppose this behavior should be encouraged, at least for the time being._

"You've already cost Reek five teeth, his left ear, and an eye. If so much as one more word comes tumbling out of your cunt mouth, I'll blind him. And don't think I wouldn't find a way to make sure the eyeballs ended up in your food one food someday. I hear direwolf tastes like chicken, but I suppose you'll have to be the judge." _Domeric should be controlling these fools himself and yet there he is laughing so hard he's forgotten that he's forbidden to cry. Pathetic. If I am forced to mediate this dispute, it will cost the so-called King in the North the top joint from one of his fingers..._

"I don't remember giving you permission to speak, bastard. Hold on, let me check...nope. Maybe you're just too stupid to understand things the first time. Let's try this again, I order you to shut up, stop hurting my brother, and to never call him anything except 'Brandon Stark' ever again. Do you understand or should I start having your fingers cut off until you remember that all you'll ever be is a stupid bastard and not a Bolton at all," asked Arya in a flat, emotionless voice. _Seven Hells, the bloody child is taking this game of hers too far, I think. I fear I shall now have to constantly supervise my bastard to ensure he doesn't murder the girl before she gives Domeric two sons._

Lord Snow's face began to twitch and Lord Bolton gripped the handle of his hunting knife in case a brief show of force was required to bring the fool to heel. Suddenly, Ramsay rose from his chair when a voice that was somehow both as soft as a whisper and as loud as a thunder suddenly cut through the room like a flaying knife peeling off a wet piece of skin.

"Ramsay, sit."

"I AM NOT A FUCKING DOG! If you want to treat the Stark cunt like your pet rat, that's fine by me, but I'm in no mood for any more of your horseshit either, father. I've already had more than enough of it for one day." _Yes, that's it, get all that out of your system. You'll regret every word soon enough, I think. I would hand you a shovel, but your tongue seems to be digging you a much deeper hole than any tool ever could..._

"Father, please...he...he doesn't mean –"

"I deal with you soon enough. In the meantime, you will be silent."

"Yes, father," mumbled Domeric. _Stop trying to appease me, you spineless fool. Is it too much to ask that you stick a knife in my neck the next time I try to make another 'adjustment' to you? It's not kinslaying to kill one's father, I think. Seven Hells, at this rate I fear I may die of natural causes..._

 _House Bolton will die with Domeric, most like. In truth, my son and heir is little more than a soft, frightened little boy desperate for a pat on the head from his father. No doubt he would be dutiful son if left to his own devices and mayhaps a gentle, obedient nature is to be commended in the smallfolk, but I fear it is not a good son I need. The North follows strength, I think. They will rebel against House Bolton – successfully, most like – the moment they stop fearing us. I do not need an obedient son; I need a worthy heir. I proved myself worthy of the Bolton name when I murdered my father. Kinslaying is acceptable under such circumstances, I think. Domeric should've sent me to an early grave years ago. His failure to do so after all these years of torture says a great deal about him and none of it good..._

 _A King must needs be made of stronger stuff, else he will never have a peaceful land nor a quite people. Fear is all that keeps men alive is this world, Kings most of all. It is the only reason my fine friends within the Northern nobility haven't skinned me alive, I think. What Lord would ever fear Domeric Bolton after my death? If only Domeric were a bastard residing at the Dreadfort and Lord Snow had never been conceived. My son would've been much happier that way, I think...provided I had a worthy heir and was never forced to legitimize Domeric._

"Why the long face, dear brother? Did father just put you in timeout again?" _Domeric was trying to beg me to be lenient when punishing you for this outburst. If you're too great a fool to recognize even that much, I fear you'll never amount to anything more than a rabid dog. Mayhaps it would be for the best if I had the bastard executed the moment you've disposed of Rickon Stark. I certainly can't legitimize him, else he'd murder Domeric and any grandchildren from my trueborn son's branch of our House. Mayhaps it would be best to simply cripple the bastard so that he no longer poses a threat to the rest of my kin..._

"I'm going to give you one last warning about speaking without permission because you're too stupid to know any better, but you'd better not say even one more word until I say you're allowed to talk again. And Domeric's more of a Bolton than you'll ever be, so you'd better stop talking about him that way!" _Pity. I'd have hoped Lady Arya would've learned by now how lie more convincingly than that; the girl plainly wants something from me, most like. I suppose it's still more convincing than Lord Manderly's speech, if nothing else. It matters not at all. I fear I must needs encourage this behavior with small rewards until she starts truly thinking of herself as a Bolton rather than a Stark._

"I'll be legitimized soon, did you know that? Father said so. He also told me that I can feed –"

"Yes, what did I say? I believe it concerned your toes."

"Fuck off," hissed the bastard.

"Ramsay, listen to me very carefully. The only reason you are still alive right now is that, while not a Bolton, you are still my son. No man is so accursed as a kinslayer, I think. Of course, there was one Bolton who perished when I was left with no alternative course of action. Unless you wish to be the second, you will be silent. Oh and one more thing: The child is right, you are not a Bolton. It was unreasonable of her to demand that you only speak when she gives you permission, but the disrespect you have shown towards her, your half-brother, and myself will not serve and must needs be punished. From now on you may not injure that...creature of yours without my good-daughter's permission."

"You can't do that! Father, please, do you have any idea how hard it is to train a Reek?"

"His name is Bran!"

"His name is Reek!"

"Bran!"

"Reek!"

"Bran!"

"Reek!"

"Enough. You may each call the creature whatever you wish provided there is no one around who is not currently in this room. Is that understood?" The Lord of the Dreadfort rolled his eyes at sight of his good-daughter sticking her tongue out at the bastard. _Such foolishness will not serve, I think. If Lady Arya continues to conduct herself like a child, I fear that I shall be forced to treat her like one. Pity. I have no desire to punish the girl for such easily avoidable mistakes._

"Do you have any idea how confusing that will be for him? Reek won't know who he is anymore."

"You should've thought about that before you let a little girl provoke you into losing all self-restraint. The child was right about something else, I think. This display of yours will cost you a finger. Now get out, all of you. Else I fear I will be forced to flay all four of you." _In truth, if they weren't my kin, I'd kill them all...well...mayhaps not Lady Arya. In truth, I doubt I could bring myself to personally inflict direct harm to her person unless my own life were in danger and the world is a far more amusing place with her in it, I think. I suppose I could always order one of my more expendable guards to strike her for me if there were truly no other alternative. Of course, I'd end up flaying the man afterward, most like._

 _The child has made me a weaker man, to be sure, but the fault for that lies with me. My father oft warned me about the dangers of spending prolonged periods of time around children and I chose to disregard his wise counsel. I could've shipped the girl off to the Dreadfort immediately, but I kept her with me at Harrenhal because I'd permitted myself to develop a certain fondness for the child. Neither of my own children could ever be permitted to feel any sort of affection for me and I fear I indulged my curiosity as to what parents could possibly get out of weakening their offspring by encouraging the poor children to become emotionally attached to them. In truth, it was like experimenting with excessive amounts of Milk of the Poppy; I should have known better. By the time I truly understood the danger, it was to late. A need had already developed. Before long, I even permitted the accursed child to hug me and drugged her to ensure that she would not be haunted by the memory of the Red Wedding. Not that she'll ever thank me for it..._

 _Of course, I would've given her to that strange Maester from Harrenhal after our first meeting if I didn't have a trueborn son whom she could be forced to wed. Were that the case, I fear Lady Arya would've been little more than an easily neutralized threat. In truth, while my good-daughter is the only member of the weaker sex I've encountered who deserved to be treated as more than a common breeding mare, she has always demonstrated a truly singular talent for making dreadful first impressions. Our initial meeting at Harrenhal was no different, I think._ The Lord of the Dreadfort noticed that while Domeric and the bastard – the latter of whom had slung his pet rat over his shoulder – had all left the room, his good-daughter was now standing directly in front of him. The child was smiling, plainly doing her utmost to look as innocent and harmless as possible, but Lady Arya's grey eyes burned with a bitter hatred that made her near as easy to read as an open book.

"You're still here."

"It's just, I...umm...I mean...can I have Vengeance back now?" _I was wondering wha it was that you wanted from me. In truth, I doubt the child could ever bring herself to actually try to injure me, but even so..._

"And what would you need a flaying knife for?"

"It's nothing...not really."

"If Domeric should be mysteriously unmanned or murdered in the middle of the night, I shall have my bastard marry you. Once you've given him two sons, I fear I'd be forced to let him do whatever he pleased with you. Now are you quite certain you want your blade back?" Lord Bolton watched with considerable amusement as all of the color drained from his good-daughter's face.

"You can't! Ramsay, he'd...and how did you...I mean...yes...I...umm...s-s-still want Vengeance back, I think. I won't hurt Domeric with it, you'll see!"

"See that you don't, else Ramsay's dogs may soon be supping upon fresh meat."

"Yes, my L-Lord. I just...thought I s-should have a flaying knife too since...since I'm a Bolton is all." _In truth, you're far too transparent to ever be a Bolton. Honest men make terrible liars...honest women too, I think. Of course, the girl may still need protection from Lord Snow and in truth, the bastard's death would be no great loss._

"Very well," sighed the Lord of the Dreadfort. "Your flaying knife –"

"Vengeance."

"Vengeance will be brought to your chambers."

"THANK YOU!"

"Yes, yes, yes, I'm sure you're quite grateful. Now then, there is something of which you should be made aware, I think. I am well aware that your display of newfound loyalty towards our house is little more than a poorly performed facade."

"What's a 'facade?'"

"A lie."

"But how did you...I mean...umm...I wasn't lying, I really –"

"Yes, I'm quite certain that you have nothing but love and affection for the House that brought an end to Stark rule over the North."

"Rickon's still alive and he'll come back with a whole army someday, you'll see!"

"As you say. If he does, I trust you will see to it that he spares the lives of any children you might have, lest he become a kinslayer."

"Shut –"

"You'd do well to think very carefully about the next words to come out of your mouth, I think. Do you remember what I told you at Harrenhal? You amuse me a great deal, but if you are not careful then I fear you may need a sharp lesson. Now then, what was it you were about to say? Nothing? Very well. In that case, you'd best run along. I am of a mind to finish my meal alone after the day's madness."

"Yes, my Lord," growled Arya as she stormed out of the room.


	36. Arya XIV

**Arya**

The dark, winding maze of stone hallways within the Dreadfort all had one thing in common: they were near as cold as a winter blizzard. In truth, Arya had never actually seen a real winter before, much less a blizzard, but it was hard to imagine how one could be colder than the castle where she'd been locked away. Of course, she wouldn't be trapped for much longer...not really. By tomorrow morning, the Lone Wolf and her second youngest brother would be free.

After Lord Bolton gave her back Vengeance, Arya spent the rest of the evening exploring the darkest corners of the Dreadfort. The paths that Lord Bolton would never let her follow. Once, she even stumbled upon some sort of secret passageway, but there was no time to see where the stupid tunnel led. In truth, Arya didn't want to know where the passageway led...not really; something about the tunnel – and it was a tunnel...or mayhaps a bottomless pit, but certainly not a hallway – frightened her...not that she'd never admit it. At first, she half-expected some sort of giant, blue-eyed Bolton spider to burst out and drag her down into its lair.

Then Ramsay's voice – half-terrified and half-mad with rage – began to slowly creep up through the tunnel although it was impossible to tell what he was saying. Before long a new noise began to echo through the tunnel and there was no question as to what it was either. The tunnel was where the screams came from...

Arya didn't have to worry about running into any of the Boltons because the Lord of the Dreadfort was still busy punishing his stupid bastard and Domeric didn't care where she went...not really. And yet, every time Arya got lost, she could've sworn that she heard footsteps following her. However, no matter how quietly the Lone Wolf turned around, the footsteps would always stop...only to return the next time she lost her way.

Eventually, Arya learned how to get to the dungeons – where Bran probably had to sleep – and not long afterward, she memorized all of the paths to and from Lord Bolton's chambers...more or less. _See mother, I told you I would save Bran someday! I just...had to figure out how to do it first is all. Wherever she is, Mother will forgive me for getting Robb and her killed now...or she won't hate me quite as much, at least._ Arya bit her lip as she began to make her way back to Domeric's chambers. _No! That's how Lord Bolton would want me to think. My mother loved me and she always will too! I bet it wouldn't even matter to her that no one should want me after the things I've done. Rickon didn't seem mad at me, so he'll also forgive me, most like. Maybe Bran will too...maybe. Robb and Sansa will still hate me though, most like..._

 _All I have to do is get the key to my stupid chain from Domeric while he's asleep. I can do it without waking him, he'll see! Well...actually he won't because he'll still be asleep, most like. Stupid Bolton. After that, I have to go to Lord Bolton's stupid chambers and kill him. I can't do it right away though...not really. I can't do anything to him until I find out why he lied to me and killed mother. The Freys killed Robb, that wasn't Lord Bolton's fault...not really. Lord Bolton, he...he wouldn't do something like that for no reason...would he? And the things he said about me, it...it can't all have been a lie. Lord Bolton didn't hate me...not really. He has to care about me at least a little bit. Lord Bolton deserves to die, but maybe he even feels a little bit guilty about hurting me...maybe. I need to know what parts were true; I mean...NO! I don't care what he thinks about me; he shouldn't have killed my mother! I hate him! Him and his...and his stupid...his stupid...I have to know...I mean, I...I need..._

Arya's eyes grew watery, but she refused to let herself shed a single tear. _I will not cry. I am a direwolf. Direwolves don't cry. And I'm not going to cry about killing Lord Bolton besides. I...I won't do it! Never!_ The Lone Wolf bit her lip and for a moment – despite everything that had happened – she felt a small pang of guilt, but then she thought of her mother and the feeling was gone. _Once Lord Bolton is...after I've...once Lord Bolton can't...can't hurt anyone in my family ever again, I just have to kill whoever's guarding my brother in the Dreadfort's stupid dungeons, steal the key to his cell, and escape with Bran. He'll remember who he is when I free him, I know he will!_

Even though Arya still briefly got lost every now and then, it didn't take near as long for her to figure out where she was as it had the first few times back when she'd been looking for the dungeons. There was another problem though...a far more dangerous one than simply figuring out the way to Lord Bolton's chambers and the Dreadfort's stupid dungeons. In truth, Arya couldn't decide whether or not Lord Bolton knew what she was planning to do in a few hours or simply thought she was planning something without knowing what. _Lord Bolton, he...he thinks I'm up to something, I know he does! It's impossible to fool him completely, else that stupid bastard would've killed Lord Bolton himself by now, most like. I bet Ramsay only does what Lord Bolton says because he knows that his stupid father can see through anyone's lies..._

 _If someone knows when you're lying to them, does that mean they also know when you're trying to trick them without actually lying? Does Lord Bolton know what I'm doing even though I just left certain things out when I asked for Vengeance back?_ The Lord of the Dreadfort plainly knew the Lone Wolf was lying when she told him she wanted Vengeance back because every Bolton should have their own blade, but that was different...Lord Bolton was supposed to see through that lie; it was a decoy. The real question was whether or not she'd been able to trick him into thinking that her plan was to murder Domeric with Vengeance. In truth, even though Arya hated Domeric with every fiber of her being, she wasn't planning to kill him either...not unless he woke up while she was trying to steal the key to her chain. _Domeric doesn't deserve to die...not really. I'd hurt him if I could, but I don't have to kill him and he was never even on my list besides. I would've killed him if he'd raped me or I'd ever seen him hurt Bran the way Ramsay did. Stupid Bolton._

*CLINK* *CLANK* *CLINK* *CLANK* Arya bit her lip and turned around, but the footsteps stopped and there was only darkness behind her...just like all the other times. _I hate those stupid footsteps! I...I hope whoever's making them gets fed to Ramsay's stupid dogs! Did Lord Bolton send that stupid undergaoler to follow me? What if...what if he already knows everything I've been doing and this is all just a trap or one of his games? NO! I can't think that way. Even if Lord Bolton knows, it's too late to turn back now and this could be my last chance to save Bran besides._

At first, Arya had truly dared to let herself believe she'd managed to trick Lord Bolton, but that was before she'd started exploring the darkest corners of the Dreadfort. There were a few times when the Lone Wolf could've sworn she heard the sound of footsteps following her, but whenever Arya turned around they'd stop...only to begin again the next time she got lost. Worse, the footsteps got louder and louder every time...almost as though they were the sound of the castle itself as its darkness prepared to swallow the Lone Wolf whole, but that wasn't true...not really. In truth, the real sounds of the Dreadfort were the screams that occasionally echoed through the castle like ghosts haunting some ancient crypt.

For a while, the Lone Wolf was convinced that Lord Bolton had sent someone to find her, so he'd have proof of what she was doing before he punished her by forcing her to watch his stupid bastard do something horrible to Bran, but eventually – when the footsteps got so close that they gave Arya gooseflesh, no matter how hard she tried to pretend that she wasn't afraid – she turned around just in time to see one of the Dreadfort's undergaolers standing behind her. At first the man asked what the Lone Wolf was doing prowling the dungeons, but he backed down after she told him in a flat, emotionless voice that the Lord of the Dreadfort had given her permission to visit her brother. Arya then demanded to know where the dungeons were and the man showed her the way.

Even after her encounter with the stupid undergaoler, the footsteps continued follow her like a lion tracking its prey whenever she got lost. The Lone Wolf couldn't decide whether or not Lord Bolton had sent the someone to follow her, but either way, there was something about the undergaoler that Arya didn't trust...even if she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. The man certainly looked like an undergaoler; his face appeared to be covered in stubble – although that could've just been the darkness – and he had a cruel, dangerous look that the Lone Wolf had oft seen on the faces of men like Lord Vargo and Lord Urswyck. Well...it wasn't quite the same...not really. This man was neither young nor old and spoke in a rough voice, but the worst part was that his voice oft sounded oddly amused...almost as if the undergaoler were playing some sort of strange game with her and no one else knew the rules. That was the part that scared Arya the most; it reminded her of the Boltons and the games they would play with people...even if the undergaoler's voice wasn't near as cruel as his face.

Eventually, Arya reached a well-lit section of the Dreadfort and before long, she was standing in front of Domeric's chambers. _At least the footsteps finally stopped; maybe that man really was just some stupid undergaoler...maybe. Lord Bolton. Ramsay Snow. Theon. Ser Ilyn. The Hound. Dunsen. Polliver. The Tickler. Valar Morghulis._ Arya studied the door to Domeric's chambers for a moment and bit her lip. The Lone Wolf took a deep breath and slammed her fist against the door.

*KNOCK* *KNOCK*

"Come in," replied a voice from within the room. "The door's unlocked, I think."

"Yes, my Lord." _Stupid Bolton._

...

Arya waited and waited for what felt like hours until she was certain that Domeric was sound asleep. _Maybe I could just pick the stupid lock with Vengeance and...no, if I get caught then Lord Bolton will take it away forever. I can't lose Vengeance, not again! Not like Needle..._

 _Domeric normally hides the key to my stupid chain, but tonight he forgot and left it on the empty side of his bed. All I have to do is get up and grab it now that he's finally asleep. Stupid Bolton._

 _It's been at least two hours since he went to sleep, most like. Domeric has to be asleep by now,_ The Lone Wolf decided as she slowly began to stand up. She lifted her chain with her right hand so it wouldn't make any noise when it dragged across the stone floor and leaned over the so-called King in the North's bed. Arya grabbed the key with her left hand when Domeric suddenly grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward. The Lone Wolf went flying onto the bed and by the time she realized what had happened, Lord Bolton's heir had his other hand around her throat. Although it was still possible to breath, it was plain that Domeric could crush his wife's windpipe instantly if she tried to reach for Vengeance and trying to speak would've been folly.

"I can't say I'm surprised to see you couldn't wait more than 15 minutes. We have a lot to talk about, I think. I know that father gave you a flaying knife although I fear can't imagine why he'd do such a thing. Even now, you get everything you could possibly want and yet you remain as ungrateful as ever." _UNGRATEFUL? Your stupid hand is around my throat, I was forced to marry the son of the man who murdered my mother and tricked me into thinking she might not love me anymore, and your stupid bastard brother is trying to torture one of my brothers into thinking he's a 'Reek'...whatever that is; why would I want any of this? Are you insane?_

"Nothing clever to say? No rude remarks? Good. Mayhaps there is still some small sliver of hope for you yet...probably not. Now then, you have two choices...well...I suppose you could try to grab your flaying knife in which case I fear I'd be forced to break your neck, but I doubt either of us would consider that a satisfactory outcome. The first option is that you give me your word that if I let go of your throat, you'll listen to what I have to say and make no effort to harm me. I believe we can find some common ground if we discuss this in a civilized manner, but whether or not that happens is entirely up to you. You will blink once if you agree. The other option is that I knock you unconsicious, bring you to my father, and inform him that I caught you trying to escape. You will blink twice if you would prefer this to a calm, civilized discussion." Arya blinked once. In truth, it wasn't a real choice at all...not really.

"Very well," replied Domeric, releasing the Lone Wolf.

"You're not going to tell your father you caught me trying to escape? I...I don't understand, why would –"

"I quite agree, it's almost as though father is trying to provoke me into attacking him at times."

"I never said that, stup...I mean...I never said that." _I can't make Domeric angry right now, else he might change his mind about not telling Lord Bolton..._

"That's okay, it's more important that whatever you really said, I think." _Stupid Bolton._

"What I wanted to say was more important to me," grumbled Arya.

"Do you know what my father told me earlier this evening? He told me that if Lord Snow managed to capture and kill your brother Rickon, he was going to legitimize the bastard. Father also informed me of his belief that no number of adjustments would ever make me worthy of the Bolton name and that if I did not get you with child by the time Ramsay had been legitimized, he would be forced to 'reconsider' my position within our family. And yet, I can't very well claim my rights as your husb –"

"If you try to rape me, I...I'll bleed on you again. I really will!" Domeric shuddered.

"As you say. Of course, there is no need for such vulgar threats. A Lady should not torment her Lord husband in such a manner, I think."

"I'm not a stupid Lady."

"I fear I shall be never entirely recover from the way my hand was violated the night that father forced me to wed you. What you did to me that night was near as barbaric as the manner in which my father's bastard has treated your brother." _WHAT I DID TO YOU? You were trying to rape me and I didn't even do it on purpose besides. I can't control when I bleed, idiot. Wait a minute...I'm the one who was forced to marry you, not the other way around. You better stop trying to say you were some kind of stupid victim just because you had to marry me,_ Arya silently fumed as her face turned crimson although fortunately, Domeric didn't seem to notice. _Not again...stop making me feel this way! Stupid Bolton._

"I accept your apology." _For what? Wait a minute, I didn't eve say anything._ "I fear nothing I do will ever be good enough for father. In truth, I am starting to suspect he never really loved me at all and that I have no value in his eyes except as a possible heir. Mayhaps I should've realized this when he forced me to kill my mother and tricked me into eating part of her, but in truth, she had no one but herself to blame." _Even Lord Bolton wouldn't do that,_ Arya decided.

"What does any of this have to do with –"

"DON'T INTERRUPT! It's not safe! I...I am not a cannibal and I...I...I didn't really murder mother. People have to be polite and she didn't knock on father's door. That's what happens to when you have bad manners. I disobeyed father and that was rude, so father was only doing...he was only doing...I forced him to do it. I didn't want to! You understand, yes? I...I had to do it. Father made me and...and...and you don't think I'm a...a monster, do you," sobbed Domeric. _Wait...what are you even talking about? Is this some stupid dream? I better not have fallen asleep while I was waiting for Domeric to fall asleep!_

"I...umm...no," Arya weakly replied. _I think you're out of your fucking mind; that's what I think!_

"Good. I...I'm glad you'd understand because I wasn't going to let you try to escape from the Dreadfort if you didn't." _WHAT?_

"You're going to let me...but I...I don't under...I mean...no, I understand. I'm just...confused is all. Why would you –"

"If you get away then you...you're going to run away to the Wall, aren't you? Your father's bastard, Jon Snow, is there and it's where I'm going to flee to with your brother. Father, he...he can't get me at the Wall, but I need you to tell your half-brother how I helped you so I don't have to spend every night waiting for him to try and kill me first. You...you are going to the Wall if you escape, aren't you?"

"Yes," Arya lied. _Jon's dead, idiot; Lord Bolton even said so at Harrenhal. Why would I go to the Wall? Stupid Bolton._

"Good. Then you'll tell your brother how I helped you escape?"

"I...I promise'll tell Jon you helped him the next time I see him." Without another word, Domeric tossed the key at the Lone Wolf's feet.

"Go. Hurry, before father notices." _Ramsay will kill Domeric as soon as he sees that I've killed their father,_ Arya realized. _Even if he is a stupid Bolton, Domeric doesn't deserve to die...not really. Not after he let me leave. Maybe I should ask him to come with Bran and me...maybe._

"Domeric?"

"Yes?" _No, Domeric's still a monster, Lord Bolton just...made him worse is all. And he's too dangerous besides. I can't let him come with us...not really, else Bran and I will never be safe._

"Thank you."

"For what? You don't truly think I'm doing this to help you and your brother, do you?"

"I thought –"

"Don't be ridiculous, you never think."

"HEY! I do so think!"

"It matters not at all. What I do, I do for myself alone. Believe me, if there were any other way, I'd skin you alive with your own knife. Do you understand, you father-stealing, ill-mannered cunt?" _FINE! Stay and die at your stupid Dreadfort then; I never wanted you to come with us anyway! I hate you! You and your stupid family!_

...

Arya followed the dark, twisted corridors of the Dreadfort until she reached Lord Bolton's chambers. The Lone Wolf carefully opened the door and cautiously crept inside. _Quick as a snake. Quiet as a mouse. Calm as still water._ Arya approached Lord Bolton's bed and studied the Lord of the Dreadfort for what felt like an eternity. Vengeance grew heavy in her hand and Arya realized that deep down – despite all Lord Bolton had done to her and her family – she didn't want to kill him...not really. 

_I...I have to do it. It's the only way to save Bran. I can't wait to find out why Lord Bolton tricked me or which parts were lies before I kill him...not really. It's going to be hard enough already and if I wait any longer, I'll never be able to kill him. I have to do it...for mother, Rickon, Bran, and Robb. It...it's the only way..._ Arya's left hand began to tremble as she gently pressed the right side of Vengeance's blade down against Lord Bolton's throat.

*THUMP* *THUMP* THUMP* *THUMP* The Lone Wolf could feel her heart racing as she prepared to open the Lord of the Dreadfort's throat. Suddenly, Lord Bolton's pale, blue eyes shot open and Arya froze.


	37. Arya XV

**Arya**

Fear is a curious thing. When Lord Bolton was asleep – if he ever was truly asleep in the first place – Arya's hand shook, she had a loose grim on Vengeance's handle, and bit her lip hard enough leave clear bite marks. And yet for all her doubts, there was no question that had he opened his eyes two seconds later, the Lord of the Dreadfort would've been gasping for his last few breaths as blood seeped from a large wound in his throat.

However, that all changed the moment Lord Bolton opened his pale, blue eyes and began silently staring at the Lone Wolf. Arya's face hardened, her grip on Vengeance tightened, and she pressed the blade of her flaying knife firmly against the Lord of the Dreadfort's throat. A single twitch would've ended Lord Bolton's life and yet no matter how hard the Lone Wolf tried to hide it, in that moment she found herself unable to end the life of the monster who had already taken so much from her. If Lord Bolton realized that his visitor had lost her nerve – at least for the moment – he showed no sign.

 _Does he know that I don't want to do it? No, that's not true...not really. I just...wish I didn't have to do kill him is all. But I want...I mean...Lord Bolton deserves to die! I hate him! He tried to make me think my mother didn't love me and then he killed her. And he keeps trying to force his stupid son to rape me besides. I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! Stupid Bolton. Why can't I move my stupid hand?_ Neither Lord Bolton nor the Lone Wolf moved so much as a single inch nor did either of them break eye contact for even half a second. Instead, they both silently stared at each other for what felt like an eternity...even if it was really just a few minutes, most like.

 _Stop looking at me like that; I don't like it! I'm not going to look away first, stupid. You told me at Harrenhal that whoever looks away first is afraid. And the man who fears losing has already lost besides. But what if...NO! If...if he tries to move then I'll kill him or..._ Arya forced herself not to start chewing her lip again, but the fear was still there all the same.

 _I can't kill him yet...not really. If I do, then how will I ever know whether he really meant any of the things he said about me? It...it doesn't matter...not really. I...I don't care what Lord Bolton thinks about me, it's just that...but I...I mean...it can't all have been a lie. Lord Bolton, he...he always cared about me at least a little bit; he has too! I mean...it...it doesn't matter what he thinks, I just...need to know is all. What if...what if it was all a lie and he always hated me just like everyone else? What if he...I mean...I...I can't...fear cuts deeper than swords! Fear cuts deeper than swords! Fear cuts deeper than swords! Fear cuts deeper than swords!_

After what felt like an eternity, the Lord of the Dreadfort briefly broke eye contact just long enough to take a quick glance at the hand pressing Vengeance's blade against his throat. _Finally! I can talk to him now that he looked away. It doesn't matter how long he broke eye contact...not really; all that matters is that he did it first,_ Arya decided.

"Arya, put down your knife," commanded a voice that was somehow both as soft as silk and as loud as thunder's roar. Lord Bolton sounded neither angry nor frightened; if anything, he sounded more than a little bit bored. One could've been forgiven for thinking his present circumstances were a nightly occurrence, but Arya knew better. _Lord Bolton might not be afraid, but even if he was, he wouldn't act like it. He can't fool me! He already taught me how to hide fear by staring at people and making stupid old grumpy faces..._

"No."

"You would make me repeat myself?"

"Sorry, my Lord, I...I just...I mean...NO! The only reason you're not already punishing Bran and me is that I could kill you right now if I wanted to; you'd be dead before you even had time to try and stop me, so...so you...umm...you'd better stop trying to make me put Vengeance away!"

"As you say. In truth, you were always a clever child. What I would have given for a child with even half your wits..." The Lone Wolf wanted to smile at that, but she forced herself to scowl at the Lord of the Dreadfort instead.

"Thank you, my Lord...I think."

"I must confess that your manners are better than I would have expected given the circumstances. Mayhaps Domeric has made more progress with you than I have given him credit for; were it not for this unfortunate incident I fear I would've been forced to give the fool one more chance. Pity."

"Adjustments? But I...I don't understand?"

"It's really quite simple. Any boy can make adjustments to the behavior of a person in his power provided he is truly willing to do whatever is necessary, but it takes a rare sort of man to do while still managing to keep his motives hidden...especially with such a stubborn individual as yourself. In truth, it matters not at all. Had my son Domeric been successful, we would not be having our present conversation during the hour of the wolf." _Wait a minute..._

"YOU!"

"I fear I must needs insist that you remain calm. I would not serve for you to accidentally open my throat by jerking your left hand in the wrong direction while foolishly over-reacting to some trivial matter."

"You were the one who told Domeric to try to make me act like some boring old Lady! I bet that's why he was always obsessed with my stupid manners! You...you told him to change me and...and..."

"Change you? You wound me. I do not deny having done a great many things to you and I fear I must needs confess to being as hard a man as circumstances required, but I have never tried to change you."

"Do you promise that you never told Domeric to try to change me into some boring old Lady? Swear it by all the old Gods and the new!"

"Very well. I swear by the old Gods and the new that I never told Domeric to make you behave like a Lady. I suppose I should be flattered that you'd take me at my word," muttered the Lord of the Dreadfort, rolling his eyes.

"What? You were telling the truth, weren't you?"

"Yes, yes, yes. In truth, it matters not at all. Tell me, since you are such a sharp little thing, what were you planning to do after killing me?"

"I'm going to free Bran and then we're finally going to escape from this stupid castle. Domeric won't look for us either; he helped me escape. He hates you or...I think he does. He said he's going to take the black too! That means there will be no more Boltons left." _He shouldn't need me to tell him that! Stupid Bolton. No, Lord Bolton's not stupid. He's just trying to trick me into putting down Vengeance, most like._

The Lord of the Dreadfort frowned and for a few seconds, his mask fell away to revel the malice and bitter hatred that it had been covering. _Lord Bolton, he...he's not mad at me! He'd never hate me...not really. He's just...angry at his stupid son is all._ Arya bit her lip.

"By killing me, you will also be killing my son Domeric. In truth, I fear it will take my Lord Snow less than a day to kill my trueborn son and forge the fool's signature on some fabricated document disinheriting you, legitimizing the bastard, and naming him as Domeric's heir."

"But Domeric is your son; you should care what happens to him and...and...umm...I mean...so what? I...I don't care what your stupid bastard does to some other stupid old Bolton. I hate them!" Lord Bolton's lips twisted into a thin smile and the Lone Wolf thought she saw a flicker of amusement creep across his face, but it was impossible to say for sure. _What? Stop looking at me like that; I wasn't telling some stupid jape. I really do hate Domeric; I just...feel a little bit sorry for him sometimes is all. Just because I feel bad about how Lord Bolton treats his stupid son doesn't mean I don't hate him,_ Arya decided.

"So the question you should be asking yourself is 'what do will Lord Bolton's bastard do next?'"

"I don't care as long as he leaves me and my family alone."

"Does Lord Snow strike you as the sort of man to forgive and forget? In truth, even if he didn't hate you more than anyone else in Westeros; he'd never give up your brother Brandon. The boy is plainly his type, I think."

"His type? I don't under –"

"It was merely jape; in truth, it matters not at all. What does matter is that my bastard will send his best hunters after the two of you. Mayhaps he will even join them... When his hunting party returns to the Dreadfort with two wolf pups – which I assure you, they most certainly will – my bastard will kill you and finish turning your brother Brandon into another Reek. I suppose Lord Snow may rape you first if he thinks it will make the experience more painful for you, but...well...I fear he enjoys your brother far more. You're missing some of his favorite parts, I think." _What does that even mean? Stupid Bolton._

"Maybe he'd catch us...maybe, but you'd still be dead. I could kill you right now and you wouldn't be able to do anything about it." Lord Bolton studied the Lone Wolf with all of the patience of a crocodile lying in wait just beneath the surface of some murky river. Then the Lord of the Dreadfort did something Arya did not expect: He smiled at her.

Lord Bolton had smiled at her before, but this was different. It was the kind of a smile a father might give his son the first time the boy walked all by himself or that a mother might give her daughter the first time the girl said the word "mama." There was real pride in the Lord of the Dreadfort's pale, blue eyes and twisted smile, that much was certain. For a moment, the Lone Wolf forgot what she was doing and gave the blue-eyed monster her widest smile. In truth, Arya was practically beaming by the time she caught herself. _That was stupid! It's just some Bolton lie, most like. I can't let him distract me like that again! He's just trying to make me think about other things so that he can take Vengeance from me. He can't fool me, not again! I won't let him! Never!_

"As you say. You could've killed me with a mere flick of your wrist before I even opened my eyes and yet you haven't, not even after all I've done to you and your former House. Every second we spend talking makes it that much more likely that you'll be caught by some guard and yet I haven't so much as a single scratch upon my neck. Why is that, I wonder..."

"Why is...wait...do you mean that you...you want me to kill you?"

"I don't want to die, if that's what you're asking and yet...how can I put this...I suppose I would derive a certain satisfaction from seeing you prove yourself worthy of the Bolton name. After all, I never would've become a Lord had I not killed my father. In truth, there is nothing stopping you from succeeding where my...children have failed if you would see me dead."

"I'm not a stupid Bolton, so you better stop acting like I am!"

"Arya Bolton. Whether you like it or not, that is and shall always be your name by all the laws of Gods and men. In truth, while you may have been born a Stark, sooner or later, you shall even become a Bolton in the more abstract sense of the word..."

"If you call me 'Arya Bolton' ever again, I...I'll kill you!" _Why does he keep trying to make me angry? Maybe he really does want me to kill him...maybe. But if...if he was like a father to...I mean...but would...would that be like kinslaying? And Domeric is my...he's my...I had to marry Lord Bolton's stupid son. That means Lord Bolton's my good-father too unless...does it even matter that the stupid marriage was never consummated? If I kill him just like he killed his father, does that mean I really am a Bolton?_ Arya bit her lip.

"You'd kill an unarmed, innocent old man who has done you no harm simply because you deemed it in your interest to do so? Mayhaps you already are a Bolton..."

"HEY! I said I'm not a stupid Bolton! And you're not innocent besides. You...you murdered my mother!" _That...that's not true; it can't be! I'm a Stark, not a Bolton; he'll see! I'm a dire...I'm a...I mean...I just...what if I really am just some...some stupid leech and not a wolf at all? Maybe I don't even deserve to have a family anymore after I got mother and Robb killed...maybe. NO! Mother, she wouldn't want me to think that way! She...she wouldn't want..._

"I did. In truth, I killed Lady Catelyn with my bare hands. Right before I choked your mother to death, she begged me to ask the Freys to kill you and spare your brother Robb. That was her dying wish; did you know that? As I recall, she said that it didn't matter what the Freys did to you because...well...you could never be a real Stark anyway, at least so far as she was concerned. Mayhaps she blamed you for her death and was merely speaking out of anger."

"LIAR! LIAR! LIAR! LIAR! My mother, she loved me! She wouldn't...she wouldn't say that! I...I don't believe you!"

"Believe what you want to believe. Catelyn Stark is dead, so I suppose we'll never know for sure, will we? It matters not at all, I think."

"It does so matter!"

"And why is that?"

"SHE WAS MY MOTHER!"

"And? I never cared for my mother."

"Well I loved mine! And my mother, she...she always loved me too..."

"Even if you would persist in dwelling upon the past, I fear I must needs remind you that a wise man is always looking to the future. My son will still give you at least two children of your own. You'll love them regardless of the circumstances under which they were born, I think. In truth, you traded a brother and your mother for two sons; it's an equal trade."

"That's not how it works! And you were going to force your stupid son to rape me besides. How is that not doing someone harm? Wait...why am I even arguing with you about this? I hate you!"

"Do you? Is that why I'm still alive and well? Because you hate me?"

"NO! I mean...umm...stop trying to confuse me."

"Is that what you think I'm doing?"

"You're doing it again!"

"Am I?"

"Yes and you'd better stop it! I do so hate you or...I mean...I...I think I do. I want to, but I'm not always sure...not really," Arya admitted. It was plainly her voice speaking the words and yet the Lone Wolf felt as though they were coming from someone else's mouth...almost as though she were just a puppet dancing on a string in some Mummer's farce.

"You do not hate me, I think. And I would no more harm you than I would my children."

"But you hurt Ramsay all the time."

"And I fear some of my actions have hurt you. Tell me, have I not always done everything within my power to protect you from the Freys, the Bloody Mummers, and my bastard Ramsay?"

"Yes, but –"

"When I said I oft thought of you as my own child, I was not lying. You could have been my son...with a few minor adjustments."

"You mean like the ones Domeric's always crying about?"

"Something like that, yes. You say he's been crying? Pity. It would appear that my past efforts to address that problem were inadequate; I fear he shall require several sharp lessons after all that has happened this evening. Tell me, how did you find out about my son's adjustments?"

"Domeric was always scared you'd decide he could be fixed no matter how many stupid adjustments he got."

"He was right to be afraid, I think."

"He also told me some story about you killing his mother and feeding her to him."

"And did you believe him?"

"No...it's just...Domeric, he...umm...he was lying, wasn't he?"

"Tell me, if I killed your mother –"

"You did kill my mother."

"As you say; I fear I'd already forgotten. In truth, your mother matters no more in death than she did in life which is to say that she matters not at all."

"My mother matters! Stop trying to pretend she doesn't!"

"Very well. Now then –"

"But did...I mean...did you really do that to Domeric?"

"Do you truly believe I would do such a thing to my wife and son?"

"I mean...I don't think so. No, you wouldn't do that...not really."

"Very well. It sounds as though you have answered your own question."

"I guess so... Lord Bolton, why did...why did you kill mother and Robb? If you didn't hate me then were...were all the other things you said about me true too? Please, I...I need –"

"Put down the knife and I shall tell you."

"How stupid do you think I am?"

"Put down the knife; we both know you're not going to use it." _How does he know? I mean...I could use Vengeance, I just...don't want to right now is all._

"NO! You have to tell me now, else you might punish me by refusing to ever tell me whether any of what you said about me at Harrenhal was true."

"As you say. I fear you'll never know until you put down the knife."

"But that...that's not fair! You can't...I mean...I have to know! Please, I...I need –"

"Arya Bolton, put the knife down...now. I fear you are letting your emotions get the better of you and I am already very disappointed in your behavior this evening besides. Why do you insist on making your present circumstances worse that they already are? Is this about your mother? I assure you that her death was no more your fault than it was mine."

"It was...your...fault," the Lone Wolf growled through clenched teeth.

"We both know you're far too smart to believe such nonsense. In truth, the fool had only herself to blame, I think. You were lost in what may well be the strangest poppy dream anyone has ever had and I was merely doing what was necessary. Your mother knew that I meant her House harm and she didn't think you'd be safe around me, yet she was unwilling to stick a knife in my throat to keep me away from you. I imagine any mother would kill in a second to protect her children, but...well...mayhaps they only do that for the ones they care about..."

"SHUT UP!" Suddenly, an uncontrollable rage filled the Lone Wolf. It was as though the moment the Lord of the Dreadfort said the name "Arya Bolton," all she could think about was everything – and everyone – he had stolen from her. For a moment, Arya could've sworn she saw her mother on gasping for air. The Lone Wolf could even hear her mother's dying breaths as the poor, frightened woman begged her youngest daughter to save her...somehow. That wasn't the last thing Catelyn Stark said before she died, most like, but it didn't matter...not really. Arya bit her lip and nearly dropped Vengeance, but fortunately both her hands clenched into fists right before the handle slipped out her left hand. After that, her grip on Vengeance was stronger than it had ever been before. _I...I'm sorry, mother. I know you forgive me, but I didn't mean to get you killed. I'd have saved you if I was awake...somehow; I really would have! I didn't know! Please, you have to believe me! I...I just..._

"Mind your tongue."

"You mind your stupid tongue."

"You're only make this worse for yourself; you do know that, don't you? And we both know that you'd never hurt me besides. Mayhaps if you put away the knife and end this madness immediately, I could see my way to only taking one of your brother's fingers. Come now, that's more than reasonable, I think."

"My name is not Arya Bolton," Arya seethed. "My name is Arya Stark. And I will always be a Stark of Winterfell."

"You are a Bolton whether you like it or not, I think."

"No. I will always be a Stark whether you like it or not. But that won't matter to you...not really," the Lone Wolf replied in a flat, emotionless voice.

"And why is that?"

"Because you're not a Stark or a Bolton...not really."

"No?"

"Not anymore. You're not even Lord of the Dreadfort. You were the Lord of the Dreadfort, but soon you'll be nothing. Dead men have no titles." Lord Bolton's right arm darted forward, but by the time it reached Arya's neck, she had already opened the blue-eyed monster's throat. For a few seconds, Lord Bolton tried to choke his attacker, but the Lone Wolf drove Vengeance into his throat a second time, and the former Lord of the Dreadfort's hands quickly fell toward the ground. Even after Lord Bolton had died, Arya kept stabbing him with Vengeance over and over again until she collapsed on the cold stone floor in exhaustion.

As the Lone Wolf began panting like a dog that had spent hours racing through some field on a hot summer day, she realized that her face, hands, and clothes were covered in a thick coat that was as wet as it was red. The tears, sweat, and blood all mixed together on Arya's face like long, thin streaks of some sort of strange warpaint. _That was...stupid! Now I...now I have to...have to...hurry! Can't be...caught like...caught looking like...like this._

...

The Lone Wolf eventually forced herself up off the ground and staggered out of the room, making sure to tie Vengeance to her left leg beneath her britches. Arya had almost reached the dungeons when she suddenly walked right into some stupid guard.

"Apologies, m'Lady." _Not again! It's that stupid undergaoler..._

"I'm not a –" *THUD*


	38. Davos III

**Davos**

 _One wrong word and this lot would gladly tear me limb-from-limb before my guards had a chance to abandon their post. I'd wager half of them are already looking for any excuse they can find to stick a knife in my belly,_ the Onion Lord decided as he studied the sea of angry, desperate faces that had surrounded his party the moment it left the Red Keep. The smallfolk may not have known that King Stannis was dead, but in truth, it was hard to imagine that very many of them would've shed a tear for their late King even if it weren't still a secret. Between the corruption of the Small Council, the Red Woman's ever-growing influence, and the rumors – completely accurate ones, at that – that His Grace was planning to burn down the Sept of Baelor, the city's smallfolk had already grown to hate their rightful King near as much as they did the pretender he defeated at the Blackwater...and that was before the ReachLords began attempting to prevent any additional foodstuffs from entering the city. After that, Davos started hearing occasional shouts of "Long Live King Tommen" amidst the desperate roars of the starving masses.

Ordinarily, the Onion Lord would have declined to meet with this so-called High Sparrow...at least outside of the Red Keep, but desperate times called for desperate measures. And what were these if not desperate times? In truth, there were other reasons Davos had made such a dangerous concession to the mysterious fanatic whom the late King Stannis oft seemed to despise near as much as the baseborn usurper who sat on the Iron Throne before him. For one thing, such negotiations were far too important to entrust to greedy cravens like Lord Florent. Davos had learned that lesson the hard way when the late Lord Axell traveled to the Eyrie with his betrothed. The result was the abduction of Lady Sansa and the death of everyone who had been sent to negotiate with the knights of the Vale. Despite the rumors that had somehow escaped the Eyrie, there was no doubt in the Onion Lord's mind that it had been one of Lord Axell's men who was responsible for that disaster. Mayhaps even the late Lord Axell himself... House Arryn's words were "As high as honor," after all; hardly the sort one would expect to break the guest right.

More importantly, it had become increasingly plain that it was folly to try to conceal the late King Stannis' death and yet what other choice was there? Her Grace needed allies within King's Landing and was hardly in a position to reject overtures...even if those of senile fanatics. The last thing the poor little girl sitting on the Iron Throne needed when the world learned of her father's death was a fresh round of riots in the capitol. If meeting with some fanatic would reduce the chances of such a disaster and make it even the least bit more likely that the Queen would survive the year, so be it. _Whatever else happens, I will not let Queen Shireen come to a violent end. I owe her father that much, at least. Her Grace may not believe it anymore after I kept her from exiling The Red Woman, but I would never betray her father's memory...no more than I would ever betray the Queen herself. The Red Woman may've been wrong about most things, but she was right when she said King Stannis would not burn and that means she might be right about... The Others...if they are truly coming then we'll need to know just what we're going to be facing and I can't think of anyone in King's Landing who knows more about the Others than the Red Woman. Shireen will understand someday..._

...

The moment the Onion Lord saw where the so-called High Sparrow wished to meet, it became clear that none of the late King's men – not the Goldcloaks, not the the knights of the Kingsguard, and not the sellswords who'd doubtless come from all across Westeros with the hope of winning their King's favor simply by killing some nameless old man – would've ever found the man who'd quickly become one of the Crown's most dangerous enemies...not even that'd had a thousand lifetimes. _If the High Sparrow – or whatever the man calls himself – meets with members of the Small Council in Flea Bottom, I imagine he spends much and more of his time simply living amongst the smallfolk; some of them see it as proof that the man truly cares for them, most like. A Goldcloak would take one look at him and see only another old beggar to poor to afford so much as a pair of shoes. And it would never even occur to a highborn Lord that such a powerful man would choose to live amongst the smallfolk with precious few of life's comforts in one of the poorest parts of the capitol besides. But if the High Sparrow is truly so well loved by the smallfolk that they could be relied upon to hide him rather than revealing his location in exchange for some titles or a bit of gold..._

"Seven blessings, my Lord," exclaimed a wise, gentle voice. Davos looked to his left and eventually noticed a barefooted old man slowly hobbling toward him. Although he had never met or even seen the man before, somehow the Onion Lord knew exactly to whom he was speaking. The man looked as old as the trees and a man could've been forgiven for thinking him ordinary in every way – except mayhaps his exceptionally unremarkable appearance – and yet there was something else lurking beneath the man's warm, unassuming features. Most men wouldn't have noticed, but Davos' years as a smuggler had taught him a great many things about those who make such an effort to appear ordinary, namely that they seldom are and that those who underestimate outwardly unassuming adversaries tend not to live very long. _This man is not what he appears, that much is certain. The High Sparrow can dress however he pleases, but only a highborn, or mayhaps an exceptionally learned man would say "my Lord" instead of "m'Lord." Her Grace is always correctin' me whenever I say it_.

"I fear I've never been much of a Godly man, but the same to you," replied the Onion Lord once the old man had finally reached him after instructing his guards to stand down with a mere wave of his right hand. Davos Seaworth had held been a great many things oft reserved for Highborns: a landed knight, a Lord, Master of Ships, Hand of the King, and now Her Grace's Regent, but in truth he was still a worldweary lowborn at heart and had never quite grown comfortable making such casual displays of power. They always seemed to sit ill with him for some reason and this time was no exception.

"Mayhaps not and yet I trust The Seven will work their will through you just as they do the rest of us whether we realize it or not." _First the Red Woman, then the Queen's Men, and now this one. Am I to spend the rest of my days feuding with fanatics?_

"You said you could calm the mobs in King's Landing if His Grace or a member of the Small Council would –"

"His Grace, is it? My Lord, I have prayed to The Crone for wisdom and she blessed me with the knowledge that the King you once served is dead and that his daughter now sits on the Iron Throne." Thick beads of sweat formed on both sides of Davos Seaworth's head and a great fear swept over him – as much for Her Grace's safety as for his own – as he clutched the small pouch he always wore around his neck with his left hand. The Onion Lord could feel the joints clanging about almost as though they could sense the presence of the hand to which they'd once belonged and were being compelled by some strange force to claw through the fabric and re-attach themselves. _Mayhaps it was inevitable that the truth would eventually come out, but for it to happen like this is nothing short of a disaster. The Gods alone know who else already knows...or how much they know, for that matter. And it would appear that there is at least one traitor amongst our ranks..._

It would've been one thing to tell the Westrosi nobility that Stannis Baratheon had died of some invented natural cause. That would've been bad enough, but at least the worst details – such as the late King's suicidal sacrifice to a hated fire God from some distant, foreign land – could be kept secret, most like. If this fanatic truly knew everything that had happened, then it was only a question of when the slaughter began...assuming it wasn't about to begin in earnest with the Onion Lord's assassination. Davos' throat grew dry as he silently prayed that Her Grace would not suffer if the worst should happen.

"Meanin' no disrespect, but I fear you've heard wrong. I serve His Grace, King Stannis of House Baratheon as Hand of the King and –"

"Don't bother denying it, my Lord. Such foolishness is plainly beneath you and honest men make terrible liars besides. I have prayed to The Crone and she has been kind enough to bless me with the wisdom to see that the whispers I've heard about the late King's death – and the manner in which he died – are true. We are all sinners, Lord Davos, and I would never rejoice over the death of a man so lost as Stannis Baratheon plainly was when he burned himself alive. Of course, such tragedies are what comes of kneeling at the alter of a false God."

"I assure you –"

"Please, my Lord, let us speak to each other as two honest men. In truth, I'd hoped you would be the one sent to meet with me, did you know that?"

"And why might that be," muttered the Onion Lord, realizing a moment too late that his voice had not done half as good a job concealing his contempt for the ancient demagogue who held the fate of House Baratheon in his splotchy, shriveled hands.

"You and I have a great deal in common, Lord Davos. More than you would ever admit, most like."

"And you have more in common with the Red Woman than you would ever admit, most like."

"No doubt. We are all sinners, after all. In truth, that is the one thing all men and women have in common: from the richest King to the humblest carpenter, we are all vain, arrogant, and spiteful creatures. The only thing a man can do is try his best to follow the path The Seven have chosen for him wherever it may lead and hope that one day his soul will float as lightly as a feather in the wind. Oh yes, I too have sinned, my Lord. Like all men...like the Red Woman, I have sinned and will no doubt do so again in the future, most like. Man's nature is a base and wicked thing, is it not? As for the Red Woman, I do not hate her as so many in this city do...regardless of whether or not she whispered in the late King's ear until he turned away from The Faith of the Seven. Hate is just one of the many sins that afflicts mankind all too often. No, I pray that The Crone will bless the Red Woman with the wisdom to turn away from her false God and accept The Mother's love after a proper atonement. I pray that The Crone will bless you and Her Grace with the same wisdom, my Lord."

"I thank you kindly for your prayer, but you needn't bother. I never worshiped the Red Woman's fire God; Stannis Baratheon was the only God that I ever saw fit to serve."

"We all need prayer, my Lord. Or do you think yourself above it? And a King is no less a false God than the one which inspired the Red Woman to burn godly men, women, and children alive."

"I meant no offense."

"And you gave none. Tell me, does the Queen share her father's love of foreign idols?"

"I'm quite certain you'll have no issue with Her Grace on that score. She hasn't been too keen on fire Gods after what happened to her father...not that I'd ever expect her to consent to trading one set of fanatics for another either. I'm quite certain Her Grace has more sense than that. In any case, I fear I don't see what a man o' the faith and a lowly smuggler could have in common...meanin' no disrespect." The High Sparrow let out a sigh of frustration although whether it was with the Onion Lord's remarks or his secularism, Davos could not say.

"We are both men of humble origins whom The Seven have seen fit to rise to positions of great power and influence despite our sinful natures. You do realize that, don't you, my Lord? The Seven have brought both of us here during a critical juncture and mayhaps some good can yet come from this meeting. Few men know the details of the King's fate although I can assure you that this will change should I become acquainted with The Stranger due to some sort of peculiar accident. Such threats are sinful to be sure and yet I fear one must sometimes take one step away from The Seven in order to take two steps towards them. Just as I thank The Warrior for blessing me with the strength to do so when necessary, so to do I pray to The Mother for her mercy...unworthy as I am." _No doubt countless High Septons said the same thing as they wore jeweled crowns and grew fat as hogs while the smallfolk starved._

"Is that so?"

"Oh yes, my Lord. I have already added it to the long list of sins for which I must atone. I fear I am a weak man who will forever find himself in need of The Mother's mercy. In any case, I would prefer to let the Small Council announce Stannis' death and while I would never encourage dishonesty, I imagine there are some details that Her Grace would prefer remain a secret. I said that I could calm the Godly men who have been slowly but surely overpowering the Gold Cloaks and indeed I can...provided Her Grace can sufficiently demonstrate that she has seen the error of her father's ways although even then some small atonement would be necessary."

"Atonement?"

"Oh yes; we all have much and more to atone for, my Lord. Of course, there will be time enough for that later. In any case, you must needs understand that we may all become well-acquainted with The Stranger within the near future if Her Grace chooses to follow in the wicked footsteps of her father."

"Stannis Baratheon was an honorable man and a just one besides. You must needs understand that if swords are drawn, you'll doubtless be among the first to meet The Stranger you're so fond of talkin' about."

"You are quite right; I would not survive for long, most like. Of course, I am just one man...one man of no more consequence than any other. In the end, whether I live or die, your Gold Cloaks are the few and we are the many. I'm sure you know better than most what can happen if The Warrior grants the many the strength to strip the few of all their finery..."

"What is it you want?"

"What I want is unimportant. The only thing that matters is what The Seven want."

"And what might that be," asked Davos, already having more than a few notions about the sort of answer he was likely to receive...none of them good.

"For now, only a simple gesture from Her Grace to show that she has seen the light, so to speak."

"As I recall, Her Grace has already legalized the worship of The Seven and hasn't burned a soul, godly or otherwise."

"And that was a step in the right direction. Of course, the Crown owes a considerable debt to The Faith although even that could be forgiven should the Crown demonstrate a truly sincere devotion to enacting the will of The Seven. If Her Grace would permit me to restore the Faith Militant...well...no man in Westeros could ever doubt that she is the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And more importantly, it would be plain that Her Grace is a just and blessed child who was chosen by The Seven themselves to sit on the Iron Throne."

"The Faith Militant?"

"An ancient and holy order whose return has been prayed for ever since the days of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. They would – as they did many years ago – put a stop to the looting and lawlessness that has plagued the capitol."

"Mayhaps...I shall have to consider this further."

"Of course, I would never expect you to make such a decision without speaking to Her Grace. I'm quite certain The Crone will grant you her wisdom when you explain the situation to Queen Shireen. Now I fear you'll have to excuse me; just as you must needs pray to your idol sitting upon the Iron Throne, I must pray to The Seven at the Sept of Baelor."

...

"NO!"

"Your Grace –"

"Nuh-No muh...no me-means...it muh-muh-MEANS nuh-no!"

"I duh-duh-don't c-care what any-anyone s-s-said to you, Dah-Davos. The Fth-Fay-FAITH Mili-Mill-Militant cuh-can't come buh-buh-back." The Onion Lord frowned...not at the Queen's words so much as at the realization that the severe stutter Her Grace developed after her father's death had plainly gone from a nervous tick to a full-blown speech impediment. _The poor girl doesn't deserve any of this. She should be happily reading one of her books or singing songs, not dealing with angry mobs of fanatics. And to add a speech impediment after all the cruelty she's already endured simply because of her face... If the Seven do exist then they're a cruel lot, that much is certain._

"Your Grace, the Faith Militant are a blessed order of the one true faith. They will carry out the will of The Seven," added Lord Florent. _I recall a time not to long ago when you and your kin would've burned a man for saying as much. It is remarkable how many men in the Red Keep were blessed with The Crone's wisdom after Her Grace converted to The Faith of the Seven. I suppose it shouldn't have come as much of a surprise. Shireen was never terribly fond of The Red Woman or that bloody fire God and Her Grace plainly blames her for Stannis' death besides. Shireen may be as innocent a child as you could ever hope to meet and yet I fear she's never quite looked at me the same way since I convinced her not to banish The Red Woman from Westeros._

The Queen still seemed to consider her Regent a dear friend and yet it was plain that at some fundamental level Shireen felt as though she'd been betrayed by him. She oft challenged and questioned his advice...just as she was doing right now and would shoot accusing glares at the Onion Lord whenever anyone mentioned The Red Woman. It had been the right decision – letting The Red Woman remain in the Red Keep – and yet how do you tell a young child to be merciful to someone they hold responsible for the death of one of their parents. Both parents, so far as the Queen was concerned. After all, Selyse had slipped into a near-catatonic state the day after her husband's death. It was a miracle that Her Grace was even able to feed her mother; that alone was far more than any of the servants had been able to accomplish.

"Your Grace, we need the support of the sparrows."

"I...I...I don't cuh-care. I've ruh-ruh-read about the Fay-Fay...the Fay...about those pee-pee-PEOPLE. They when...they went around killing pee-people who didn't buh-bell-belee-BELIEVE what they duh-did. They're just like the Red...the...the Ruh-Red Wuh-Wuh-Woman. I am the Quh-Quh-Quh-QUEEN and I for-forbide it! They can...they can't...can't...can't come buh-buh...CAN'T come buh-back, no m-matt-matter what! Nuh-Never! The Sss-Ssspar...the Ssss...the Ssssp-Spuh-SPARROWS can have...have their gold dra-drah-draguh-DRAGONS though. And I...I pruh-prommuh-puh-puh-PROMISE no one will ever get bbbuh-buh-burned ever aguh-guh...ever aguh-AGAIN. Is it sss-safe here, Lord Duh-Davos? Shhh-Shhh-SHOULD we go buh-buh...go buh...go BACK to Duh-Duh-Drag...to Draguh...to duh-duh-DRAGONS-sss-ssstohh-sss-STONE with the...with...with the uh-uh-uh-OTHERS?"

"If you have decided to reject the High Sparrow's proposal then I'd say we'd be far safer in Dragonstone, Your Grace."

"I have dee-dee-decided to re-rejehh-rejehhh-REJECT it. Th-Th-Thank you."

"Your Grace, someone should remain in the Red Keep to oversee King's Landing in your absence. If you'll permit me to be so bold, I can think of no one better suited for the task than Lord Florent."

"ME?"

"You are Hand of the Queen and I'm sure the High Sparrow would be far more willing to negotiate with a godly man such as yourself than some lowly smuggler."

"Are you shh-shh-sure," asked the Queen, as if dimly aware that there was something else buried beneath the suggestion which she did not understand. The Onion Lord grimly nodded his head.

"Okay. I...I still truh-truh-TRUST you...even if you did...even if...if you...you...you didn't let me puh-puh-puh-PUNISH the Red Wuh-Woman for muh-muh-merd-merdur-MURDERING my puh-parents. You pro-pro-pro-pro-PROTECTED her even...even after shh-shh-shh-shh-SHE muh-muh-muh-merd-merd...she merd-merdur...SHE GOT THEM...got them kill-killed. It was her fuh-fault and...and...and you still pro-pro-protected her anywuh-wuh-ANYWAY, but I'm truh-trying to for-for-for-FORGIVE you be-be-becaww-becawww-BECAUSE you were...are...were always my fruh-fruh-friend." This comment would've ordinarily given Davos Seaworth considerable pause, but in truth his mind was elsewhere. In that moment it was consumed by a single glorious thought: _Mayhaps now I'll finally be rid of those bloody Florents..._


	39. Bran VI and Chett II

**Bran | Chett**

 **Bran**

He was close now…so close that he could already see the massive northern port, mayhaps the greatest city of its kind in all of Westeros. There was a time many years ago – only a few months after Bran's seventh nameday, in fact – when the second oldest son of Ned and Catelyn Stark somehow managed to convince himself that his heart's greatest desire was to accompany the Lord of Winterfell the next time traveled to White Harbor. Had he been awake, Bran might've remembered that his mother wouldn't hear of it for weeks until his father finally convinced her to let him bring their second son to The North's greatest port…only to find that the boy had forgotten all about the city and was now determined to remain in Winterfell for as long as possible. Such is the nature of children…

Of course, none of that seemed to matter as Bran soared through the frigid northern skies toward the only thing that was important during his dragon dreams: The Castle. In truth, the accursed fortress was more than just a castle, at least so far as Bran was concerned. Dimming the sun by day while casting a grim shadow over everything north of The Neck during the darkness of the night, the Dreadfort stood tall at all times like some great and terrible monument to all of the rot that had taken hold in The North. It was an evil place from whence the wretched screams of so many men who'd not yet been welcomed into death's sweet embrace originated, their cries of pain surrounding the castle like some sort of shrieking evil spirit guarding the gates of a prison for those forsaken by man and God alike. And mayhaps it was not even possible to escape the Dreadfort in death. It would not have surprised Bran if the lonely souls of all those who died in that earthly hell were condemned to haunt the castle's winding corridors for the rest of time, searching in vain for a peace they would never find. Such a place could not be allowed to stand, that much was certain.

Had he been awake, Bran could have given a great many reasons for wanting to see every single stone of this cruel castle destroyed and the ground upon which it stood salted: the House that currently claimed the castle as its seat – Lord Bolton planned to move the seat of House Bolton to Winterfell as soon as the damage from his baseborn son's attack had been repaired – had done more than any other in Westeros to destroy all that Bran held dear, he himself had been personally subjected to unimaginable cruelty at the Dreadfort along with two of his siblings, and the place stood for everything Bran's father hated. In truth, the mere existence of such a place in The North was a near-unforgivable insult to both the late Ned Stark's legacy and everything he stood for in life.

And yet, Brandon Stark never remembered any of this in his dragon dreams. All he knew was that the Dreadfort was like a temple to The Enemy – whoever or whatever that was…a Bolton, most like – in the sense that you could not simply learn to co-exist with it. You had to burn it to the ground along with everyone in it so that the purifying flames can cleanse the righteous and the wicked alike. The souls of all those who enter the Dreadfort are tainted by evil that has been done behind its stone walls, most like. This port city was merely another…another thing standing in the way and so, it too had to be destroyed.

There had been obstacles, but overcoming them was simple enough and seldom required more than a touch of patience besides. Chief among them was the fact that every time he had a new dragon dream, Bran found himself south of where he'd been at the end of the previous one. It was always two steps forward, one step back. _If I don't burn The Port, then maybe…maybe I can reach The Castle before I wake up. Fine. Only The Castle will burn tonight and…snow? It shouldn't be snowing this hard by The Port, it shouldn't even be snowing this hard at Winterfell. What's Winterfell…it was…Winterfell, it…it's home! Winterfell is my home. Are there more dragons there?_

Although Bran hadn't the slightest idea how or why, it quickly became plain to him that there were no dragons to be found at Winterfell – wherever it was – even if it was his home. _There are no dragons in Winterfell, only wolves and even the oldest wolves are already dead besides. Dragons live in the south and at The Wall. Winterfell is still my home though, at least I think it…wait? What's that? Ice? But…HEY! STOP IT!_ Bran roared in frustration as sharp icicles rained down from the sky like a thousand spears, shattering the moment they hit his snout and bitter blizzard's arrival was as sudden as the ice storm that accompanied it was brutal. _Stop raining ice; the sky isn't supposed to do that right now! This is…wrong._ In that moment, Bran had a sudden, strangely chilling realization as he soared through the cool night sky whose icy winds kept nipping at his belly like a pack of hungry dogs: _Winter is Coming._

Though he could never remember what the words meant as he raced through the sky like a gigantic bolt of lightning, these words were oft a great source of comfort for Bran during his dragon dreams. And yet this time was different…the words that once warmed his fiery blood were now a cold comfort at best. The mere thought was like biting into a rotting onion that stank of decaying flesh and turned into a pile of ashes the moment it touched your tongue, leaving nothing except the bitter taste of death to suggest that it had ever even existed in the first place. _Winter is Coming._

Tonight those three words were as cruel and unforgiving as the eyes that haunted Bran's other dreams…the ones he had when he wasn't dreaming of dragons or legendary rebellions. These dreams were always haunted by the same pale, blue eyes…eyes whose cold and bitter gaze slowly choked the life out of a broken woman who was killed first by the pain in her heart, then by the hands around her neck.

…

 _There it is! I can see it! The Castle, that…that has to be it. Soon it will all be over and The Castle will be gone forever. There are no dragons or wolves living in The Castle…only monsters and soon they will all burn for what they have done!_ Bran opened his mouth and…suddenly, his eyes shot open.

 _What? NO! Please, I don't want to wake up yet! Just a couple of minutes or even a few more seconds and I…I could've…AAAARRRGGGH! I don't care if it was real or just some stupid dream; I was so close! It's not fair! Who even woke…wait…Domeric? Why was he shouting at me? BRAN? What were you doing in the bad dreams? You…you were going to try to hurt Master again, weren't you? Don't do it, you…you can't! PLEASE, we…we need Lord Ramsay; he is a kind and loving master. I…don't…CARE!_

 _How could you try to even dream of trying hurt Master after everything he's done for us? He only cut off part of our middle left toe for getting confused about what our name is and then he was even generous enough to make us eat the meat that came off. Master only hurts us when we make him and he was even kind enough to give us extra food. For the last time, Reek, my name is Brandon Stark of Winterfell. Now shut up and…wait a minute, that thing with my toe…that…that actually happened? You see how generous Master is now, don't you, Bran? I'LL KILL HIM! Bran, no! I…I don't care if it's just a dream, I…I'll make it real…somehow. But a Reek needs his master and Master needs his Reek! Go away! I won't let you hurt, Master; you'll thank me someday. You…you're not thinking clearly, else you'd love Master too…just like I do. You can't see what happens in my dragon dreams, Reek. I'm still free there, I'm going to kill that stupid bastard, and there's nothing you or anyone else can do about it._

"Brandon, it was very rude of you to remain asleep even as I've spent so much time trying to wake you. This will not serve."

"Why did you have to wake me tonight? Why now? It isn't fair!"

"It matters not at all what is or isn't fair, I think. Even so, I fear you must needs forgive me for disturbing you during the hour of the wolf…although mayhaps it is fitting considering recent events."

"What…what are you talking about?"

"It would appear that your sister, Lady Arya, has…how shall I put this? Your sister appears to have murdered my father and simply left the Dreadfort on her own without any sort of assistance."

"Where is Arya? What…what did you do to her?"

"You wound me, Brandon. I swear by all the Gods, the Old and the New that I have no idea where your sister is at this moment. Lady Arya has simply vanished; in truth, it's almost as though she disappeared into thin air. And she seems to have abandoned you…"

"That's not true! Arya wouldn't just leave without me and…and neither would Rickon! You did something to them; I know you did!"

"In truth, I suppose it is possible that father simply insulted his bastard one too many times and…well…we all know how fond your sister and Lord Snow were of each other. However, I doubt very much that my father's bastard knows a thing about what has transpired on this fine evening."

"Wait, Arya's free and Lord Bolton, is he…he's really dead? But that…that would make you –"

"Yes. I am Lord Bolton although in truth, I will not be Lord Bolton much longer. I intend to name my father's bastard as my heir and take the black. You, Brandon, shall accompany me tomorrow morning. My late father once mentioned that your own father's bastard is took the black and I intend to take you with me to The Wall. I will turn you over to your father's bast –"

"Jon's alive?"

"Yes, that was the name, I think. Now you will not interrupt me again; it is extremely rude. I will deliver you to Jon Snow or at least take you with me to The Wall exchange for my own safety. Your father's bastard will spare my life to safe yours, I think. Furthermore, when we arrive at Castle Black, you will tell Jon Snow how I did my utmost to protect you from my father's bastard whenever possible. Is that understood?"

"Umm…yes," replied Bran, squinting in confusion. _What the Seven Hells is even going on here? This has to be some sort of game or…I don't even know…_

"Good. Lord Snow will permit us to safely depart from the Dreadfort in exchange for legitimization and all of my lands, titles, and incomes, I think. In truth, I have no further use for them. With father dead, mayhaps there will come a day many, many years from now when I will have atoned for my crimes in some small way." _What? NO! We…we can't leave Master! Not now, Reek, I'm trying to think. We have to stop Lord Domeric; he's a bad man. What will Master do without his Reek? I don't know what Ramsay will do and I don't care either. He'll just replace you with a new Reek, most like. Re-Re-Replace? Another Reek? NOOOOOOOOOOO! Master, he…he loves his Reek and…and you don't really think he'd try to replace me if we were gone, do you? SHUT UP! I…I won't let us leave! You couldn't stop us…I mean…you couldn't stop me if you tried and you don't get a stupid vote besides, now go away._

"Really…I…we can leave?"

"Yes. Tomorrow morning, we shall ride for Castle Black. In truth, you should be thanking me, I think."

"Umm…thank you, I…I think." Without another word, Lord Domeric left the Dreadfort's dungeons. _It…it doesn't matter. Either I'll be dead soon or Jon's really alive and Domeric's going to take me to him. Either way, soon I'll be free!_

Bran eventually fell back asleep, despite Reek's best efforts to stay awake, but there were no more dragon dreams to be had that night. Bran spent the rest of the night watching as his brother Rickon snarl at a weak, whimpering mess of a man as they the three of them entered And yet in truth, Bran couldn't help wondering whether mayhaps there would be no further need for them come the morrow.

…

Bran didn't remember waking up or how he ended up in a chair, next to Ramsay Snow, but there he was: sitting right across from Lord Domeric and picking up a piece of breakfast bacon off his plate using only his mouth. The Lord of the Dreadfort was signing some sort of document and plainly fighting a losing battle to conceal his disgust with Reek's table manners…assuming they were actually Reek's and Ramsay hadn't simply ordered Reek to humiliate himself in order to make Lord Domeric uncomfortable.

 _Reek? Reek? REEK? Why can't I remember anything from this morning? What did we…I mean…what did you do? Stop hiding Reek! I know you're in there,_ Bran silently roared, spitting out the crisp meat as Ramsay's wormy lips curled into a hungry smile. _This…this isn't funny, Reek. I know you can hear me! What did you do? I have a right to know! Like I have a right to know what you do in your evil dreams? No, that…that's different. It doesn't matter, Bran; Master said I'm not allowed to tell you anyway. Not allowed to tell me what? I can't! You…you'll thank me someday. I am a good and loyal Reek, always and forever!_

"It's done," grunted Domeric. The crippled bastard began to reach across the table with his remaining hand only for his brother to yank away whatever document he'd just finished signing.

"Patience. You'll have everything you've ever wanted soon enough, but you will have it once my good-brother and I have left the Dreadfort, and not a moment sooner. Until then, I fear you will must needs wait. In truth, we both know you've been waiting for this day, although mayhaps while imagining it would come under different circumstances. You can wait a few more hours, I think."

"Is that a fact?"

"Yes." The moment that word left Domeric Bolton's mouth, Ramsay threw his goblet at his half-brother's head, distracting the Lord of the Dreadfort just long enough for the Lord Snow leap onto the table and tackle Domeric to the ground. By the time Ramsay backed away from his half-brother, he'd already stabbed the man in the belly three times. _NOOOOOO! That…that's not fair! He was going to take me to Jon and I'd never have to set foot in this place ever again. See, Bran, I told you that you'd thank me. Now we'll be able to stay with Master always and forever! I'M NOT THANKING YOU, YOU IDIOT!_

"I'm terribly sorry, Domeric, but I'm afraid I've never been much good at waiting. Oh hush up and stop bleeding all over the floor; it's rather rude of you to make such a mess in my castle and we both know how much you hate rudeness. Incidentally, this is exactly how I've imagined that I would become Lord of the Dreadfort. Father's dead, you'll be dead soon, and that bitch father made you marry is rotting in a ditch somewhere. What more could a man possibly want? Awfully thoughtful of you to take care of father and your cunt wife for me…not that I needed the help. What happened? Was daddy mean to you one to many times and the little wolf shit happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time? Was that it? Hold on, I don't recall giving you permission to die quite yet."

"Why," rasped Domeric, spitting blood as he spoke. "I…I…I was…was going…going to –"

"Kill me? Don't bother denying it, dear brother. Reek told me everything; he told me that you were going to go through this little charade and then slide a knife between my ribs the moment I let my guard down and…damn it, why do people keep dying before I've given them permission? I was going to feed him to my dogs; this is just like him to ruin my fun before its even begun. OH WELL! We don't want to waste perfectly good meat, do we, Reek?"

"No, Master." _What did you do? I…I had to trick master into killing Domeric, Bran. I couldn't let you be us this morning, else you might've tried to get in the way. Domeric was a bad man who was going to take us away from Master forever and ever. I had to stop him! You'll thank me one day, if Master hasn't cured us of you yet._

*ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAR*

"What the fuck was that," asked Ramsay as all the glass in the Dreadfort seemed to shatter. For once, the new Lord of the Dreadfort's voice quivered and Bran knew the crippled bastard was truly afraid. Suddenly, Bran's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell out of his chair. _There it is, I…I can see The Castle. It won't get away this time…_

…

 **Chett**

Today had already been the happiest day of Chett's life and fittingly enough, it came not long after one of the worst days. The day began with not one, but two welcome deaths. The first came when Ser Piggy began bawling like a little girl – not that anyone would ever have accused Sam Tarly of being little – because Horn Hill had been burned to the ground. The fat fool didn't say much about his father, but he wouldn't stop wailing about his bloody mother and his siblings. _Bloody highborns. Far as I'm concerned, the less of those stuck up cunts we got floatin' around, the better. Ser Piggy will see his kin soon enough. I must needs be patient until the time is right,_ Chett reminded himself, spitting at muddy floor of Castle Black's kennels. _When the time is right, I'll stick that pig personally and carve a nice slice of bacon right off of his fat neck._

The second delightful death which had occurred today was of the one resident of Castle Black whom Chett hated more than Ser Piggy: Lord Snow's white wolf. In truth, it wasn't even a wolf; the thing was a savage beast of monstrous size that would always snarl, bark, and bare its teeth whenever it saw Castle Black's kennel-master. _Dumb bitch. Not so tough after I poisoned your water, were you?_

Chett had always hated wolves, even when he was just a little boy and had never seen one before. Lord Snow's beast may not have been a wolf, but it would've been close enough to earn Chett's hatred even if it weren't such a bloody pain in the arse. But the monstrous wolf-dog's death wasn't what made this such a great day. That was something far simpler…something every man at Castle Black could feel in his bones the moment they woke up in the morning: winter had finally come to The Wall and that meant that before long Chett, along with those who'd been smart enough to join him, would finally be free.


	40. Sansa III and Arya XVI

**Sansa | Arya**

 **Sansa**

"Good night, Alayne." _What does he…_ Sansa couldn't even finish the thought; it was…wrong. Whether she'd admit it to herself or not, Sansa knew exactly what Lord Baelish wanted: the same thing he always wanted from her. In truth, that knowledge – the realization the Lord Protector of the Vale would never stop trying to make her kiss him the way a wife might kiss her husband at their wedding…and all because Sansa reminded him of her mother – was far too terrible a thing to dwell upon for very long. The only question was whether an unwanted kiss was all Lord Baelish wanted this morning. _At least he's too old to want the things unchivalrous men oft want from women… No, Petyr is doing this because he loves mother. He…he's never wanted anyone except her, not even aunt Lysa. But if he were younger would he want… NO! That can't be true; it's simply too horrid. He's not like that! He…he can't be!_

"Come now, Alyane, we both know that's no way for a daughter to treat her beloved father. It wounds me to think that you could be so cruel as to fail to wish me a good evening, truly it does. Your manners are usually impeccable which leads me to wonder whether or not you are displeased with me. Why else would a daughter behave so coldly toward her father?" _Whatever you've done for me; you're not my father. No matter what I have to call you for our safety, no one will ever be able to replace father. And no one except a woman's true love should ever ask her to kiss him that way besides._

"Have I ever once hurt you in any way? Have I been cruel to you as Joffrey was? Haven't I always done everything in my power to keep you safe even when it would've meant certain death if the Lannisters caught so much as a whiff of disloyalty?" _Only because I look like mother,_ Sansa wanted to add although she knew better than to speak such things aloud. It would only make Lord Baelish angry and the eldest Starkling had to bury such dreadful notions in the darkest corners of her mind in order to keep pretending they weren't true besides.

"I…I'm sorry, father. I'm terribly sorry that I forgot to say good night to you and just the thought that I could've ever hurt you in any way is so…so very horrid that I don't know what I'd do if it were actually true. You've already done so much for me already, father, that I'll never be able to thank you enough. I know mother would be so very grateful to you if she were still alive. Can you ever forgive me?" _Why does he make me say things like this? Does he just want to believe it so badly that he doesn't even care whether it's true or not? How can someone so smart be so dumb?_

"I've done no more for you than any father would do for his daughter."

"But you've already done so very much. Most fathers would never dream of doing even half the things you've done for me." _And they certainly wouldn't dream of doing any of the things you've done to me…_ Lord Baelish's lips twisted into a serpentine smile and it took all of the eldest Starkling's self-restraint not to shiver in disgust.

"There, there, Alyane," replied Lord Baelish in what was plainly meant to be a soothing voice when in truth, it sounded more like a toxic lullaby. "How could I ever be angry at a daughter with even half your beauty. Not even your mother had that when she was your age…" By now, the Lord Protector of the Vale was standing far too close to the eldest Starkling, not that he seemed to care.

"Father?"

"Shh…don't worry, Alyane. If you desire my forgiveness then you shall have it. You could have a great many things if you would only ask."

"I don't understand." _That's not…he can't mean…_ Suddenly, Sansa felt a hand squeeze her left breast and while it was gone after a few seconds, it felt like an eternity. It was all Sansa could do not to slap Lord Baelish in the face. _That didn't happen. This…this isn't real; it isn't happening. No! Please, don't let him… He…he didn't mean it. It…it had to be an accident,_ Sansa decided. It was a lie, but ever since Joffrey took her father's head, the eldest Starkling had learned that there were times when the only way to survive was by clinging to such lies. The truth was oft so dreadful that anyone foolish enough to let it have its day might as well place their head on a chopping block…that's where it would end up anyway, most like. There were two types of survivors: the monsters and the people who knew how to keep themselves from dwelling upon the worst of what they saw. That was true in the Red Keep and it was certainly true in the Eyrie…a place that was practically overflowing with terrible truths that one had to ignore simply to maintain their sanity.

"I…I should really go. Aunt Lysa, if she sees us this close to each other then she might think –"

"Lysa's not here right now…"

"Please, father, she…she's your wife. You're supposed to love her. I don't want –" Although his expression remained unchanged, Sansa saw a cloud of furious anger spread across Lord Baelish's gray-green eyes. That was the moment when she realized something had been…different about the Lord Protector of the Vale when he said "good night" to her. Lord Baelish had wobbled when he walked as though he were struggling to keep his balance and his voice sounded…wrong. _Why is he talking like that? His words sound a little bit like Arya's did when she was nine and mother realized she'd snuck a half empty bottle of wine out of one of the kitchens. At least he hasn't thrown up on anyone yet; Arya's went all over Bran while she was struggling to climb onto one of the chairs just before dinner. But if he can't control himself then…I need to get out of here now!_

"You still have much to learn," growled Lord Baelish leaning in so closely that Sansa could see blood-red lines streaking across his eyes like dreadful spider webs. Worse, she could smell the stink of rum on Lord Baelish's breath. The eldest Starkling knew from her time in King's Landing that rum wasn't like wine, it…it could make people dangerous.

"You're just…you're just lost in your cups. Please, don't –"

"That stupid little brat who rules the Vale…just a selfish little child who thinks the whole world revolves around him getting exactly what he wants. What about my needs? Did you…did you hear her? My wife, she…she says that thing really was my son. She was supposed to get rid of it; Lysa, she…she promised not to have it. It just hit me tonight that her son…that I helped make him. I didn't believe it at first, but now I can see myself in his face and –"

"Please, you're scaring me."

"I certainly wouldn't want that! You look just like Cat did at your age. No, that's not true. You really are far more beautiful than she ever was; I'd hate to think I frightened such a pretty little face. Now let father show his beautiful daughter how sorry he is," wheezed Lord Baelish right before he grabbed Sansa's head and kissed her on the lips for ten of the most uncomfortable seconds of the eldest Starkling's life. Finally, Sansa managed to pull her head out of her uncle's hands. _I have to make him stop thinking about me…somehow._

"Robin really is your son? I thought aunt Lysa was making that up," Sansa lied.

"Yes, Cat, why do you think I've been drinking?" _Did he just call me…GROSS. He didn't mean it, he's just lost in his cups. Lord Baelish, he…he doesn't know what he's saying. He loves Aunt Lysa, not mother and not…not me. Please don't let him want me!_

"I'm not Cat, Lord Bae…I mean…father."

"Not Cat?"

"No, not Cat. Catelyn's my mother, remember?" Suddenly, Lord Baelish's face changed and somehow Sansa knew he'd calmed down…at least for the moment.

"I…I need to lay down. I don't…I don't feel…I don't…" Lord Baelish made it halfway down the hall before he passed out which was just as well since the Gods alone know what he might've said to his wife in such a state had he reached their chambers.

…

For the next two days, Lord Baelish did not look at his niece, much less speak to her. During that time, Lysa was kinder to her than Sansa would've ever believed possible…too kind, in fact. In truth, she couldn't shake the feeling that her aunt was up to something…something horrid.

Three days after that awful night, Lord Baelish cornered the eldest Starkling as she was returning to her chambers after breaking her fast. Everything about him looked contrite except his gray-green eyes which Sansa could practically feel crawling beneath her dress. _Why can't you just leave me alone? We both know you're not really sorry, so why are you going to make me pretend to forgive you? Don't you care what I actually think?_

"I…I fear I owe you an apology, Alyane. That incident, it…it was most unfortunate." _UNFORTUNATE? I didn't know whether or not you were going to try to rape me._ "I…I wasn't myself that night and I feel dreadful about…I promise it will never happen again. Can you find it in yourself to forgive me?"

"There's nothing to forgive," Sansa lied, speaking in an almost completely emotionless voice.

"Good. Now prove it, give your father one little kiss. Be quick about it; I have news concerning your family, but we can't talk about that until we've settled this matter. Go on, I won't bite." Sansa came her uncle a quick peck on the cheek and raced away before he could finish leaning forward to try and kiss her on the lips again.

"I suppose I deserved that," sighed Lord Baelish. "We'll get back to where we were soon enough…"

"You said there was news about my family."

"Oh right…that. Several excellent developments were brought to my attention this morning which I wish to share with you. I suppose there has also been some rather…unfortunate news, at least depending upon how one chooses to look at it. Will you please join me in my solar," asked Lord Baelish in an oily voice which made it plain that this was an order rather than a request.

"Yes, Lord Bae…father."

…

"Why are you locking the door," Sansa asked wearily. _This was a mistake, I…I shouldn't have come in here alone. Aunt Lysa may get angry with me sometimes, but she wouldn't let him…no, she'd just say I made him do it. It's not her fault though, she loves him and uncle Petyr, he just…he just has her confused. Aunt Lysa would like me if Lord Baelish would just behave normally around me. That doesn't matter though, does it? I'm stuck in the most dreadful place in all of Westeros with a spoiled, milk-guzzling maniac of a cousin who won't stop staring at me when I'm trying to eat dinner. The little creep even follows me around sometimes when his mother isn't around. He's plotting some way to kill me, most like. It's not my fault aunt Lysa keeps saying she's always wanted a daughter. Why do all the Arryns think I'm trying to steal someone from them? I don't want ANY of them. Aunt Lysa's not as bad as her son and she's been like a mother to me half the time, but the other half of the time she's screaming about how badly she wants to drop me through the moon door. And uncle Petyr, he…he wants…he wants to…_

"Simply a precaution, Alyane. Simply a precaution… Now as you may recall that I promised you that those responsible for the Red Wedding – the one at The Twins – would be dead within a year. I fear some of those men have already been disposed of before I had a chance to kill them. There was some sort of fire in Horn Hill which appears to have wiped out all of House Tarly. Horn Hill itself is apparently nothing more than a pile of rubble." _What does that have to do with the Red Wedding? And why should I be happy someone's home burned down? Those people never tried to hurt me or…I don't think they did._

"The Tarlys didn't kill mother and Robb," Sansa coldly replied.

"Mayhaps not, but it is a positive development either way. Lord Randyll was growing too powerful. A few more victories and he might've even managed to unite the southern kingdoms and such things cannot be permitted to occur before their time. Lord Bolton is dead too." That caught Sansa's attention.

"He is? Roose Bolton? The one who helped plan the Red Wedding?"

"The very same. Some say he was even the man who stole your mother from…us. Apparently, he was murdered along with his heir by his own bastard. The fool seems to think he can turn kinslayer and then send every Lord a raven proclaiming himself the new King in the North. The bastard claims that his kin were poisoned by their enemies, but I doubt even Edmure Tully would believe such a thing." _What did uncle Edmure ever do to you? Why do I have to be stuck in this horrid castle listening to this monster? If he…if he rapes…if he does it, I…I'll throw myself through the moon door_ , Sansa decided.

 _I don't…I…I don't deserve this; I was good! Arya got to see mother and Robb again, but the only family I'll ever see for the rest of my life are aunt Lysa and that little monster of hers. Cousin Robin's manners are even worse than Arya's; she's the one who deserved to be forced to marry him when he comes of age, not me! She also gets to live in Winterfell instead of this dreadful place,_ Sansa fumed.

 _The Boltons even made her Queen of the stupid North. At least Arya had some good things happen to her and the Boltons can't possibly have been as bad as Joffrey besides. And now uncle Petyr is…aunt Lysa was right. I…I wish this was happening to Arya instead. She…she deserves it more. Uncle Petyr, aunt Lysa, Robin, Cersei, Joffrey, Stannis, Lord Axell…all of them! That should've been her, not me. Aunt Lysa said…she said it was okay to wish bad things happened to my sister instead as long as I still loved her and I do. Not that it matters since I'll never see her again…_

 _Just because I'm angry at Arya for always getting everything handed to her on a silver platter – even though the little brat never deserved any of it and always complained instead of behaving like a proper lady – doesn't mean I don't love her anymore. I really do love her…just like aunt Lysa still loves mother. I just…I just wish everything wasn't always so easy for her. I want Arya to be happy. I really do; but I deserve to get what I want too. At least when Arya was with mother and Robb, she probably thought she was going to be happy again. I'd give anything to feel that way just for a few days even if I knew it would end badly. Everything that happens in the Eyrie is already dreadful, so it wouldn't be any different. When do I get to think I'll be happy? There's nothing left to hope for in the Eyrie. I don't deserve to spend the rest of my life living in a place like this with my own uncle trying to… I was always good and Arya, she…she was…she…deep breaths. I have to stay calm while Lord Baelish is around. It's…it's not Arya's fault she was always such a spoiled brat, she was just born that way, most like. Deep breaths. Aunt Lysa was right, that does help if you need to calm down when other people are around._

"Are you alright, Alyane?"

"Yes, I mean, I only wondered…"

"Yes?"

"What happened to my sis…I mean…Arya?" _With her luck, someone probably rescued her from the Boltons and is bringing her to reunite with someone else in our family right now._

"I'm terribly sorry, Alyane. There is no easy way for me to tell you this," sighed Lord Baelish. "According to the raven, your sister was –" *CLICK* Suddenly, the doors to Lord Baelish's solar swung open and aunt Lysa came racing in so quickly that she nearly tripped on her skirts about ten times before slowing down.

"OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH PEEEEEEEEEEEEETYYYYYYYYYYYYR!"

"I thought I locked the door," Lord Baelish grumbled.

"You did. I have a key to every room in the Eyrie," Lysa exclaimed. Sansa had never seen the woman look near this happy since arriving at the Eyrie…not even at her wedding to Lord Baelish.

"Are you…are you feeling alright, Lysa? I worry about you sometimes and I think –"

"Nonsense, Petyr, I've never been better although it is very sweet of you to ask. So very thoughtful my Petyr is and not just when we're in public," purred the Lady of the Vale. _No! Don't think about it! Don't think…GROSS! I hate this place! Can I someone please just gouge out my eyes? If that's what you're planning Robin, now would be a great time! There are some images, I really need to unsee right now…_

"Petyr, I have a surprise for you. Follow me! It's in the High Hall," shouted aunt Lysa as she raced out of the room like a woman possessed. Petyr and Sansa looked at the open doorway, then at each other, and finally at the doorway again. After simply staring for a moment in stunned silence, Sansa finally spoke.

"We should probably see what she's talking about, shouldn't we?"

"Yes, Alyane, I think we should…Seven help us," sighed Lord Baelish.

…

 **Arya**

 **Three minutes earlier in the High Hall of the Eyrie:**

"MMMPPPPHHH! MMMMPPPH! MMMMMMPPPHHHH! MMMMMMPPPPH! MMMMPPPHHHH! MMMMMMMPPPPHHH," shouted Arya…as loudly as someone who'd been tied up, gagged, and blindfolded could shout.

"FINE. I'll take the bloody thing out. Ya' know somethin'? Yer the only person I've ever heard of who was even louder after someone stuck a gag in their mouth than they were beforehand. What I need is a bloody muzzle," groaned Bronn.

"MMMMMPPPHHH! MMMMMPPPPHHHH! MMMMPPHHH? MMMMPHHHH! MMMMPHH! MMMMMPHHHH! MMMMMPPPHHH? MMMPPPHHH!"

"For the love of…I'm not going to muzzle you. I'm taking the useless thing out of your accursed mouth. See? Might as well take the blindfold off too, see'n as we're finally here. Sometimes I wonder if knighthood is worth puttin' up with you for this long."

"MMMMMPPPHHH! MMMPHHH! MMMPPPPPHH! MMMMPPPPHHHH!"

"Seven Hells, don't you ever shut up?" Arya shook her head.

"Are you really gonna keep makin' that noise until I take the bloody gag out?" Arya nodded.

"If I take it out, we're gonna have a few ground rules this time. No biting. And no kicking or runnin' when I untie yer legs. That understood?" Arya nodded again and Bronn removed her gag and blindfold. The Lone Wolf thanked him by spitting in his face and received a slap in the face for her trouble.

"OWWWWW! Hey! What was that for?"

"That, little Lady, was fer spittin' in my face."

"You said no biting. I didn't try to bite you this time. And I'm not a stupid Lady either."

"No, yer more of a stupid brat. Better?"

"HEY! I am not stupid! And I'm not a brat either, so you'd better stop calling me that!"

"Do I need to gag you again?"

"No," muttered Arya. _What'd you expect? You knocked me unconscious, kidnapped me, took me away on some stupid fishing boat, tied me up, gagged me, blindfolded me, let me talk to two guards who told you to put the gag back in my mouth until they'd left the room, and brought me to some place without telling me anything except that you don't work for the Lannisters anymore. Why should I trust you? And you keep calling me a Lady whenever I do anything that annoys you. I already said I don't like being called that, you stupid…stupidhead._

"Good. Now, I've untied yer legs too. Do you promise you won't try to run away again if I untie yer arms?"

"I promise."

"Let me, yer hands."

"What? Why? I already said I wouldn't try to run away this time. Don't you trust me?" Bronn looked at Arya as though she'd just a second head. "Fine," grumbled the Lone Wolf, holding up her hands.

"Unfuckin' believable. Yer actually crossing yer bloody fingers. Seven Hells, I'm gettin' too old for this shit. Babysittin' a bloody child's worse than protectin' that bloody dwarf. Ain't half as much fun either."

"At least I didn't lie about trying to run away."

"You gave yer word you wouldn't run when you were plannin' to run. That's called lyin'. I should know seein' as I'm somethin' of an expert meself where lyin' is concerned."

"But Jon said it's not a lie if you cross your fingers."

"Oh well, I beg yer pardon then. If 'Jon' said it, why…that just changes everythin', don't it?" _You better stop talking about Jon that way…even if he's probably dead. I don't like it!_ "Who the fuck is 'Jon,' anyway?"

"Jon was…nevermind. Look, you can untie me now. See, I'm not crossing my fingers this time. I promise I won't try to run away. Where would I even go? There's nowhere to run here…not really."

"Know what the problem with you bloody highborns is," asked Bronn as he began untying the Lone Wolf's arms.

"I'm sure you're about to tell me," muttered Arya, rolling her eyes.

"You lot all think that yer the only ones who know how to make up the rules as they go, but that ain't true. You just go around rewritten rules and then act surprised when folks like me do the same when dealin' with the likes of you. See, the same way you can pretend a lie ain't a lie if you cross yer little fingers, I can pretend kidnappin' ain't kidnappin' if one of yer own kin hired me to do it. And if it ain't kidnappin' then you got no cause to be always tryin' to run away all the time." _What does that mean? What do you even want? I hate you! You and your stupid fishing boat!_

"Wait…my kin? Where…where are we anyway?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I might be trying to help you?" Arya shook her head.

"Of course it didn't," Bronn sighed. "We're in the Eyrie. Yer rich aunt Lysa seems to think that…well…I should warn you that yer aunt's a bit…touched." _I have an Aunt named Lysa? How come mother never said anything about her? Was she father's sister? No, that was Lyanna Stark._ "In truth, the woman really has to be experienced firsthand. I try not to think about her if I can help it. Point is that she got it into her head to bring you here from the Dreadfort and decided that the task could only be entrusted to…how did Ser Lucas Corbray put it? 'The most unscrupulous and infamous scoundrel in all of Westeros.' Apparently that's me…or so I'm told. Yer aunt Lysa, in her infinite wisdom, had Ser Corbray track me down to Flea Bottom and offer me a knighthood if I delivered you to the Eyrie."

"What? Why? I've never even met her and…I mean…I don't under–"

"It's best not to understand yer aunt if you can help it. In truth, I find understandin' her only makes things worse."

"But –" Suddenly the doors to the High Hall burst open and a woman bolted into the room, practically climbing onto a large, elevated chair. A little boy scampered along behind her on all fours like a dog, then plopped down on her lap, and began drinking from his mother's right breast. _EWWWWWWWWWWWWW! GROSS!_

"I can get my bloody knighthood later," grunted Bronn, making a speedy exit out of the room as Arya simply stared at her aunt and cousin in mute horror. He was already gone by the time the Lone Wolf had picked her jaw up off the floor long enough to do more than blink repeatedly in a state of stunned silence. _Bronn? Where did he go? Wait, he…he can't leave me with these people. They…they're crazy!_

"You are Arya of House Stark are you not," growled the woman, the joy melting off her face as she spoke.

"MOTHER, I WANT MORE," screeched the little boy.

"Hush and shush, sweet Robin. Mommy has more milk in her other food sack," whispered the madwoman. The little boy began nursing on his mother's left breast and Lysa turned her attention to her youngest niece once more. "Are you soft in the head? I asked you a question. Is your name Arya of House Stark?"

"I…yes," Arya weakly replied. In truth, she was far too shocked to even think about lying.

"Good, now…PEEEEEEEEEEETYYYYYYYYR! Oh Petyr, it's here. Such an ugly little thing and far too young, yes? Look at that face; it's even more hideous than I could've ever hoped!" _Who is she talking about? Wait a minute…_

"HEY, I am not!"

"Quiet you. Sansa, your mother once mentioned in a letter that you had a homely sister. That's her isn't it? The bad one you told me about? If it isn't, we can just toss her through the moon door along with that dastardly villain who brought her here." Arya turned around and saw that two people had entered the High Hall. One was Littlefinger; he was just some creepy man from King's Landing. The other was someone Arya never thought she'd see again: her older sister. In that moment, it was like she'd escaped from the Boltons, the Freys, the Bloody Mummers, and all the other horrible things that had happened since Arya's father left Winterfell. All that mattered was that the Lone Wolf finally had a pack again.

"Sansa? SANSA," Arya screamed as she raced across the room and hugged her older sister. When Sansa made no effort to return her hug, Arya looked up and saw her sister silently regarding her with cold blue eyes. _Why are you looking at me like that? She…she hates me_ , Arya realized. _Does she…does she know I got mother and Robb killed?_

"Sansa? Sansa, please, it's…it's me! Don't you remember…Sansa?" Suddenly, the hateful look melted away from the eldest Stark's face and Arya felt as though she were finally looking at her sister again.

"Arya, I…I'm sorry, I just…wasn't expecting…is…is that blood on your clothes? You're hurt! What happened to you?"

"I'm sorry! Please don't hate me! It's dry and it…it's not even my blood besides. I promise it won't ruin your dress," Arya wailed, clinging to her older sister as though her life depended upon it. Sansa finally wrapped her arms around her younger sister and the two wolves hugged each other fiercely although at first Arya wouldn't release her sister even after the eldest Starkling began trying to pull away.

"Arya, if you don't let go of me, you're go to ruin my dress anyway." Arya finally released her sister and bit her lip as she tried to figure out what she'd done wrong. _Didn't she miss me at least a little bit? Does Sansa not want me anymore because I did something wrong just now or is it because of the things I did before Bronn kidnapped me. I really wasn't trying to ruin her dress…_

"Don't you realize what this means, Petyr," asked Lysa. The woman was so giddy with excitement that she was practically bouncing up and down in her chair. Her son even looked a little bit dizzy and for a moment, Arya thought he might throw up. "You always said you only kept Sansa here because you felt responsible for her. You said you had a responsibility because she was Cat's daughter or some such foolishness. Now you can toss her out the moon door and take care of the ugly little one instead. That thing is utterly repulsive. Look at it's face; it looks like a horse mated with a fish? I'd never have to worry about that beast stealing you away from me even if it lusted for the way that empty headed child so plainly does. The way all women surely do…" _GROSS! Wait…not again! Seven Hells, what is your problem? You…you better stop talking about me that way!_

"HEY, my face does not look like a horse mated with some stupid fish and you'd better stop talking that way about my sister, you MMPPPHH! MMMMPPPHH!" _Sansa, let…me…GO! Stop…stop it! I'm not afraid of that stupid old witch. She shouldn't be talking about either of us that way; I don't like it!_

"Dearest Lysa, light of my life," growled Petyr as Sansa finally stopped covering her younger sister's mouth.

"What is it, my darling Petyr?"

"You do realize what this means, don't you? Now I'm afraid we're responsible for both of them," hissed Littlefinger, never taking his gray-green eyes off of Sansa for even half a second.

"Both of them?"

"Yes. Both of them."

"We are? But why would we want the ugly one if it isn't going to replace Sansa?"

"SHUT MMMHHHPPP! MMMHHHPPP! MMMMHHP! MMHHHHPP!" _I'm not an 'it,' idiot; I'm a girl. Sansa, stop covering my stupid mouth. It's okay if you're afraid of aunt Lysa; I'm not afraid. I'm a direwolf. Direwolves eat falcons if they get too close. If you'd just let go of me then I'd make her stop talking…somehow. I really will; you'll see!_

"Because little Arya is also Cat's daughter, isn't that right, Sansa?" Sansa nodded and released her sister once again.

"I'M HUNGRY! MORE! MORE! MORE," screamed Robin.

"After you marry your cousin, she'll be able to feed you too," Lysa cooed as she gazed lovingly at her son.

"WHAT," gasped both Starklings in unison, their eyes wide with horror.

"Bran and Rickon are alive," blurted Arya, desperate to change the subject.

"What did you say," asked Sansa.

"I saw them at Wint –"

"There will be plenty of time to discuss such things later," snapped Littlefinger. It was then that Arya noticed two other things about the strange man who'd been friends with her mother. The first was that he looked as though he wanted to twist her head off with his bare hands. The second was that he kept grabbing at Sansa's right hand no matter how many times she swatted his away.

"HEY! You'd better leave my sister alone, stupid." Sansa's eyes grew wide with terror and she began nervously shaking her head, but Arya wasn't afraid. "What? Littlefinger shouldn't be doing that. Why does he keep trying to touch you?"

Suddenly, Lysa's lips curled up into a demonic smile. The smile grew larger and larger until the madwoman looked like more like a savage, bloodthirsty beast in the midst of some terrible feeding frenzy than she did a person. It took a lot to truly terrify Arya, but even she was so frightened by look on her aunt's face that she tried to hide behind her older sister. _Not today! Not today! Not today! Not today!_

"Yes, PETYR, why do you…keep…trying…to touch…Sansa…STAAAAAAAAAARK," Lysa snarled through clenched teeth. Somehow both her eyes and her smile seemed to grow wider with every word. It was such a monstrous thing to behold that Arya almost wished she were still at the Dreadfort. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"I asked you a question PETYR! We're all just DYING to know, isn't that right, Arya? I said 'ISN'T THAT RIGHT, ARYA?'"

"I…I…umm…I mean…yes, aunt…aunt Luh-Lysa," Arya whimpered.

"See Petyr, you don't want to be rude our…new…guest. DO YOU?"

"Lysa, I…I was only comforting my niece. She has had a…difficult week."

"You see, I knew it couldn't have been my Petyr's fault, no. He's so very sensitive, yes he is," Lysa jubilantly declared as a confused mix of emotions worked their way across her twisted features.

"I'm sorry, Sansa. I was wrong about not being afraid of aunt Lysa," Arya whispered. As if it reply, the eldest Starkling let out a loud sigh of annoyance. _She doesn't seem that frightened, is this…is this normal? But that means…Seven Hells, aunt Lysa's even crazier than Domeric._

"I know my Petyr would never lie to me, but I'll not have you toying with his gentle heart, Sansa. If I ever learn that you've been touching him…not even his sweet words will be able to save you. This is your last chance, do you hear me? Your younger sister can serve as your chambermaid. That way the two of you may spend time together and no one will suspect a thing, yes?"

"Yes, aunt Lysa. I understand."

"But I don't want to be a chamber –"

"Come along, chambermaid," grumbled Sansa as she dragged her shellshocked sister out of the Eyrie's High Hall.


	41. Sansa IV and Arya XVII

**Sansa | Arya**

 **Sansa**

"Arya, please, just stop talking for two seconds."

"But I –"

"You must needs be more careful around Littlefinger. You don't know what he's capable of," Sansa insisted, rubbing her forehead in frustration. _Seven Hells! I'm trying to protect you. No matter how much of a spoiled little brat you've always been, you're still my sister and I'm not going to have your blood on my hands. For once in your entire life, can't you just say 'yes' without arguing? Is that really so much to ask? Can't you just trust me when I say Lord Baelish is dangerous? I can't tell her what he tried to do to me; Arya might actually try to attack him if she knew he almost raped…I mean…he was just…lost in his cups. He didn't really want…he…he just thought it was mother or…NO! That can't be true either! Lord Baelish said he loved mother, so why would he try to rape me even if he thought he was talking to her instead of me? He's the only reason I'm still alive and I can't let myself hate him while I'm in the Eyrie. It's too dangerous. He wouldn't hurt me, most like. Arya though…_ Sansa thought of the way the Lord Protector of the Vale had been looking at her younger sister earlier in the morning – before the two Starklings made their way to the safety of the eldest Starkling's chambers – and shuddered. _He hates her,_ Sansa realized. _I can't tell her, else Arya will just be even more determined to make a hash of thing the way she always does. As it is, no one will ever believe she's a chambermaid. Arya can't even brush her own hair, much less someone else's; look at it! I've seen bird's nests that were tidier than that mess!_

"You said he protected you because he loved our mother, so he won't hurt me either, most like." _You don't look like our mother, I do._ "And who cares if Littlefinger is wroth with me besides? He's not dangerous…not really; aunt Lysa's the one who we need to be careful around. That stupid little creep doesn't scare me and I don't know why you're so worried about what I'll say to him." _You don't know him like I do…_

"Aunt Lysa isn't dangerous except when she gets jealous, but even then she's just…confused. She doesn't mean it and she'll get better if we give her the chance besides. It wasn't easy for her to grow up in the shadow of someone who was better at her than everything. Everyone ignored her because they liked our mother better or at least…that's how it felt to aunt Lysa."

"That's what it was like for me at Winterfell and I don't act the way she does."

"What are you talking about?"

"Lord Bolton was the only person besides Jon who ever said I could do anything better than you and now I'll never even know if any of that was true or if it was just another of his stupid games."

"What do the Boltons have to do with –"

"I wasn't allowed to be good at anything…not really. You could sing, dance, sew, and…and…you were perfect at everything. Everyone always said so; our family just got stuck with me. I'm not jealous of you though…not really. Most of the things you like to do are boring anyway. I just…I just wish I could've been good at something too is all. I didn't have to be everyone's favorite, but I would've liked to know what it felt like not to be hated by most of the people who knew me. Maybe Lord Bolton was right after all…maybe. I'll never even know what it's like not to be my family's least favorite, most like."

"That's not true. Why would you ever think anyone in our family felt that way?"

"I'm not stupid; I know you always wished you could've had someone like Jeyne Poole as your sister instead of me." _How could she…she knew? I…I never really meant…Arya wasn't supposed to know when I was thinking that and…was it that obvious?_

In that moment, Sansa felt more ashamed of herself for her resentment towards her sister than did for anything she'd ever done in her life. Whatever faults the eldest Starkling may've had, a lack of empathy had never been one of them…a fact which only made the pain and self-loathing in her younger sister's voice that much more devestating. _Did I do this to her? I never meant to…did Arya always feel this way? I would've tried to help her make friends if I'd known she was this unhappy._ As the eldest Starkling remembered all the times she'd complained to herself about how unsatisfactory Arya was as a sister in almost every way, Sansa found there was nothing she wanted more than to apologize to the sad, lonely little girl standing before her. She desperately wanted to say how sorry she was for anything she'd done to make her sister feel so worth and yet the words kept getting stuck in the eldest Starkling's throat.

"That's not true; you're better than me at some things."

"Only things that you never tried."

"You…you were always better than me at riding horses."

"And you even stole that from me." _WHAT?_

"That's not the way it works, Arya. Riding horses is a skill."

"I guess…I guess it wasn't just you…not really. It was also Beth Cassel and Jeyne Poole."

"How could anyone steal that from you?"

"You ruined it for me. The three of you used to always call me 'horseface.' That…that hurt more than anything anyone has ever called me in my life. Jeyne would even start neighing whenever I was nearby. I can do some things better than you, but they're things mother and father didn't want me to do. I had one thing I loved doing that no one would ever try to change and that I could do better than anyone else in our fam –"

"I didn't know the name upset you this much and I'm so sorry if it ruined horseback riding for you. I feel absolutely dreadful about all of this and I truly wish I knew you'd felt this way."

"You'd could've known if you really wanted to, but you didn't care how I felt when we were at Winterfell…not really. And you'd have acted the same way if you knew how much it hurt me besides."

"That's not true. I'd have made my friends stop calling you that if I knew how much it hurt your feelings. And I promise I never called you 'horseface.'"

"Look me in the eye and say you never called me that when you thought I wasn't around."

"This is ridiculous! It's just some silly name; you…you're overreacting."

"That's what I thought," mumbled Arya.

"I…I only meant –"

"Don't worry, I'm not mad at you…not really. I'm used to it by now." _You're just making me feel even worse when you talk that way. This isn't fair! Now I can't even be angry at you anymore without feeling like a terrible sister. Why can't you just yell at me or…or hate me? That way I wouldn't feel so bad about not liking you. You even said you think I had it so easy, so why…why aren't you jealous? I would be! I was angry at you when you got everything handed to you on a silver plater._ As if in reply, Sansa's younger sister looked directly at her with watery gray eyes which were easily the saddest the eldest Starkling had ever seen. _Seven Hells, now I feel even worse._

"I'm sorry, I didn't…I didn't mean to hurt you like that," Sansa stammered.

"I'm glad you got to be happy and…wait…why do you look so sad? It's okay, Sansa. I can…I can always pretend that Lord Bolton meant all the things he said about me. For a little while, I actually thought I'd found someone who was my own and no one else's, but I hadn't…not really. It was all just some Bolton lie, most like. At least one of us got to have friends," Arya sighed. _NO! Don't you dare be happy for me! Do you have any idea how horrid you're making me feel right now? If…if you really wanted to make me feel better, you'd yell at me for being a horrible sister instead of torturing me like this. It…it isn't fair and I don't deserve…you better start acting more selfish right this minute! Why aren't you angry at me? Can't you just be a whiney brat like you normally are? I never felt bad about being angry with you before you came to the Eyrie, so why does it make me feel so horrid now that you're here?_

"Arya, I –"

"You were mean to me and always wished I wasn't your sister, but at least you only hated me the second most. Robb actually tried to sell me to the Freys for some stupid old bridge because he was so desperate to get rid of me. Everyone liked you better though; you were perfect and I was just…me. Even mother and father always loved you more," Arya mumbled, stubbornly refusing to take her eyes off the ground. _Is she…she doesn't want me to see her crying,_ Sansa realized. "I was always their *sniff* least…their least favorite."

"You can't possibly believe…Arya, you…you know that isn't true. Mother and father loved all their children equally, including you. And I don't know what happened with Robb and the Freys, but I'm sure there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for whatever happened. Robb loved you too."

"HE DID NOT! Even if Lord Bolton lied about mother, he…he was right about Robb. No one would've ever tried to sell you for some stupid bridge. Maybe Robb wished I'd never been born at all…maybe." _Why does she keep mentioning Lord Bolton? Did he do this? If…if he made Arya hate herself this much then I…I…I'll kill him myself. I don't care whether or not that monster is dead or how much of a brat my sister used to be; no one is allowed to hurt her or any of my kin that way._

"ARYA, that's enough!"

"Mother loved me and even she'd choose you if she could only save one of our lives, most like." _What happened to you…_

"At least you got to see mother and Robb before they died." Arya did not argue or even so much as scowl at her sister like Sansa had expected. Instead, she simply fell to her knees and began sobbing uncontrollably.

"I *sniff* I didn't m-m-mean to *sniff* to get them *sniff* to get them…get…get them *sniff* killed. I really didn't *sniff* I just *sniff* I'm sorry…I just *sniff* I mean…I just *sniff* please, don't hate me," wailed the frightened child.

"Arya, what are you –"

"Please, I *sniff* I didn't *sniff* I didn't mean to *sniff* didn't mean to get them *sniff* killed. I *sniff* I didn't know Lord Bolt *sniff* Lord Bolton was like that, I *sniff* I really didn't! I thought *sniff* I thought he was my *sniff* my friend. I did it, Sansa! They *sniff* they'd still be *sniff* alive right now if *sniff* I'd never *sniff* never been born."

"Don't be ridiculous, the Boltons and Freys killed mother and Robb. Lord Baelish said that everyone south of The Neck knows that," Sansa replied in a voice that was meant to be comforting, but sounded exhausted more than anything else.

"IT'S MY FAULT TOO!" Ultimately, Sansa did the only thing she could do: she hugged her sister and waited for the poor girl to tire herself out…although in truth, Arya seldom remained worn out for long at Winterfell. Once her younger sister had calmed down, Sansa tried to return the discussion to the initial topic, in part out of simple desperation to change the subject.

"What you have to understand about Lord Baelish is –"

"Littlefinger."

"Arya, you can't call him that."

"Why *sniff* why not," asked Arya, wiping her eyes on her left sleeve. "And you didn't want him touching your hand either; I could tell. He shouldn't be touching you like that if you don't want him to, it's…wrong." _Don't you think I know that?_

"Please, just listen to –"

You don't have to be afraid of him, Sansa. I…I'll protect you; I really will! You'll see!" _How? By saying something stupid and then mysteriously disappearing one day or dying in some sort of accident that even I won't question? There's nowhere to escape to and even if there was, how would we ever get there? Until I think of a better answer to that question, you must needs mind your tongue, especially around him. It's bad enough that you said Bran and Rickon are alive. Now they're in danger too, most like._

"I'm not the one who needs to be protected from Little…from Lord Baelish."

"No one needs to be protected from him…not really."

"I saying this because I love you too much to let anything happen to you."

"Are you…are you sure," asked the Lone Wolf, looking down at the ground again. "No one should…not after the things I've done."

"I don't care what you did or didn't do."

"But I –"

"I said 'I don't care.'"

"You don't know…not really. You can't know…"

"You're right, Arya; I don't know what you had to do to survive and you don't know what I had to do, so why don't we both stop assuming the other one has had such an easy life. Here's what I do know: You'll always be a Stark of Winterfell and you'll always be my sister."

"Are…are you sure you want me to be your sister," asked Arya, biting her lip. Suddenly, Sansa heard a voice – the greasy voice of a slimy weasel of a man whom she feared and respected in equal measure – calling out to her in a raspy whisper from some dark corner of her mind. _"Comfort your sister, console her…only see to it that you also nurse her guilt just enough to ensure that she remains desperate to prove herself to you. Mayhaps it will cause her pain and that is regrettable, yet she has a better claim to Winterfell than you…at least, until one of your brothers shows up. So be a good sister, but encourage Arya's guilt. Let it fester like an open wound. Mayhaps a day will come you can use that guilt to convince her to abandon her claim to Winterfell and recognize your own. We both know you deserve it more,"_ the voice added. _No, Arya needs me right now. If I say the wrong thing, it could break her completely. I can't…I can't just keep letting her believe mother and Robb's death was her fault; that's simply too horrid. Mother and father would be ashamed of me for even thinking of doing such a thing. "No doubt. Your parents were kind people. And where are their kind souls now,"_ asked the oily voice.

You had to be careful about listening to Lord Baelish's voice, even though Sansa knew he wasn't really the one speaking. She'd lived near the man long enough to begin learning to think the way he did…to learn how to use people and yet the eldest Starkling never acquired her political mentor's comfort with exploiting emotional pain, even if it was sometimes necessary. The eldest Starkling was certain that thinking like the Lord Protector of the Vale would oft lead to shrewd strategic decisions and yet it was also plain to her that if she listened to every song the Mockingbird's voice sang, she'd become near as horrid a monster as Lord Baelish. A quick glance at the fear, desperation, and self-loathing in her sister's eyes was all it took to make Sansa feel like the worst person in the entire world for even considering such a cruel betrayal of her own kin. _I will continue to learn from Lord Baelish, but I won't destroy people who care about me the way he did by using aunt Lysa until he broke her. NEVER!_

"I've never been surer of anything else in my life, Arya. And I don't care whose fault you think mother and Robb's deaths were; I know you weren't responsible and more importantly, I still love you. I'll always be glad you are my sister too…even if you're probably the worst chambermaid in the history of Westeros." In truth, Sansa couldn't decide whether or not she really was happy to have Arya as her sister, but mayhaps that didn't matter. For better or worse, the stubborn little girl was her sister and there was no sense in running away from that fact. Besides, even if it wasn't entirely true, it still felt like the right thing to say…although it quickly became plain to the eldest Starkling that she would not escape from her younger sister's bear hug any time soon.

…

 **Arya**

 _I have to be strong for Sansa; she needs me,_ Arya decided as she left her sister's chambers. The eldest Starkling could never know how much it had frightened the Lone Wolf to learn that their psychotic aunt wanted to meet with her privately in the High Hall, else it might scare her too. _I am not afraid…not really. I am a direwolf and…and direwolves, they…aunt Lysa, she…she wouldn't kill me. Even if she's crazy, she's not a kinslayer…is she? Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords,_ Arya repeated to herself as she left her sister's chambers and slowly began making her way towards the High Hall. Before long, a greasy voice crawled out of the shadows in which its owner seemed to reside.

"This is certainly a fortuitous turn of events, my Lady," rasped Littlefinger's oily voice. "I was just thinking that it might be best for the two of us to speak in private about –"

"I'm not a stupid Lady. What do you even want anyway? You better leave Sansa alone," snapped Arya, turning around and looking the stupid Lord Protector of the Vale directly in the eye.

"I want the same thing you do: your sister's happiness. I understand that you have been granted an audience with my wife in the High Hall. I'm sure neither of us wants to keep her waiting, so why don't we talk while you make your way there."

"I don't want to talk to you, stupid." A dark cloud came over Littlefinger's gray-green eyes and Arya knew he was wroth with her despite the reptilian smile which remained glued to the stupid snake's face. It was plainly supposed to be a comforting smile, but it reminded the Lone Wolf of a lion licking its lips before it devoured a wounded animal.

"I see that and it wounds me greatly to know that you hold such a low opinion of me. I did more than any other man to help your father in King's Landing and have always been a true and loyal friend of House Stark."

"You stood there like everyone else while Joffrey took off my father's head. I saw you!" That plainly surprised Littlefinger and the two-legged worm opened its mouth to say something…only to close it again. "And my father would never trust someone like you besides."

"Is that so?"

"YES," barked the Lone Wolf.

"If you were truly hiding somewhere amidst the crowd that gathered at the Sept of Baelor to watch your father's death then you know that did your sister stood there just as I did. Was she a Lannister sympathizer?"

"Well…no, but –"

"No, she was not and neither was I. There was nothing either of us could do or would you have had me die there instead of doing all I could to keep Lady Sansa safe from Joffrey Baratheon? And when Lord Axell Florent tried to rape her at the Eyrie, I was the one who intervened and had him dropped through the moon door."

"I…I guess it's good that you were there to help her, but you better not try to touch her ever again! That was –"

"Quite a fierce little wolf pup, aren't we," chuckled Littlefinger. "You think I was harassing your sister? Is that where all of this distrust originated?" _HEY! I'm a woman grown, not some stupid child. And the main reason I don't trust you has nothing to do with Sansa…not really. That's why I don't like you, but Lord Bolton said that sometimes we have to work with people we don't like. He was right too…even if he was talking about why Robb would even try to make a deal with someone like Lord Walder. I bet Lord Bolton hated the Freys just as much as I do! He may have been cruel, but he was nothing like those stupid chinless weasels…not really. Or at least, Lord Bolton never treated me the way Lord Walder, Black Walder, Ser Hosteen, Ser Aneys, or Elmar would've if Robb's stupid plan to get rid of me had worked. Even though Robb hated me, I still miss him. I'd have let the stupid Freys do whatever they wanted to me if it would've saved mother, Robb, or even just uncle Edmure. I…I could've saved them…somehow,_ Arya reminded herself, frowning. _Littlefinger would never sacrifice himself for anyone, most like. He'll never have a pack and probably doesn't even want one, so how could anyone ever trust him? Even the Boltons and Freys had their own packs in a way…some of them did, at least._

"I don't trust you because Lord Bolton and the greatest swordsman who ever lived both told me that you can tell what a man is thinking just by looking him in the eye. Your face is like an open book. That's how I know not to trust you," Arya lied. In truth, Littlefinger's face was extremely difficult to read, but his voice…well…every word that came tumbling out of his stupid mouth only made him sound even more untrustworthy. Some men told you their thoughts with their face, others with their tone of voice…the Lord Protector of the Vale was the second type of man. Why Littlefinger thought anyone would ever believe that a man as honest as Ned Stark would ever accept his help, Arya would never know…

"I'd never touch Lady Sansa in anything resembling an overly familiar manner. You have my word that I was merely trying to comfort her during a highly…emotional week."

"Maybe you were…maybe. And mayhaps if you try to 'comfort' her again you'll lose a finger."

"You're quite dangerous, aren't you? I suppose I'd best be careful," snickered Littlefinger with a serpentine smirk.

"HEY! Stop patternizing…powderizing…I mean…stop…stop pasteurizing –"

"Patronizing?"

"Yes, that! Stop patronizing me; I don't like it!"

"I'd never dream of it. I'd be much too frightened to ever cross you after seeing how viciously you bare your teeth at those you disapprove of; I'm sure even the Mountain would've trembled in his armor at such a fearsome sight."

"You're doing it right now!"

"I don't know what I've done to earn such hatred from you, but I am confident that in time you'll learn to trust me as Lady Sansa does." _Liar! Liar! Liar! Liar! Sansa doesn't trust you, she's just…scared of you is all._ "In any case, I know that you care a great deal for your sister Sansa. In truth, a blind man could see that much. In light of this fact, mayhaps it would behoof you to at least listen to what I have to say."

"'Behoof?' What do horses have to do with anything?"

"Behoof means…nevermind. Please just listen to –"

"Fine. If I listen until we get to the stupid High Hall will you leave me alone?"

"As you wish, Lady Arya."

"I said I'm not a stupid Lady, so you'd better stop calling me that! Sansa's a Lady; I'm just…"

"You're just…what?"

"Nothing, I just…I mean…can you please say whatever you were going to say already," mumbled Arya, looking down the ground. As her tiny feet plodded along, one in front of the other, the Lone Wolf began chewing her lower lip nervously.

"I meant what I said earlier about how much you seem to care about your sister."

"I meant what I said earlier about you losing a finger if you touch her ever again."

"No doubt. Of course, no matter how much you love your sister, I imagine it must've been hard spending so much time in her shadow at Winterfell. Your sister being all a Lady should be and you being…well…"

"WERE YOU SPYING ON US EARLIER?"

"While it is true that most walls have ears even in a place as isolated as The Eyrie, I can assure you that I was not listening to whatever conversation the two of you had earlier this morning. I'd never invade a Lady's privacy in such a manner." _For the last time, I'm not a stupid Lady. Seven Hells, you're even worse than Domeric was about this._ "Tell me, what is it you thought I was going to say?"

"You have ten seconds to explain what any of this has to do with Sansa."

"If you truly care for your sister half so much as I think you do, then you'll support her claim to Winterfell and the North."

"What? Why? Bran's supposed to be Lord of Winterfell or if he still doesn't remember who he is after what the Boltons did to him then maybe Rickon should be instead…maybe. And Robb, he…he disinherited Sansa after she was betrothed to some Southron Lord besides. At least, that's what Lord Bolton said… I don't think Sansa even has a claim to Winterfell anymore…not really." A flash of anger filled Littlefinger's gray-green eyes and for a split-second, Arya was certain that the tailless rat was about to punch her in the face, but he didn't…his smile simply grew wider. Arya shuddered and began walking more quickly. _Maybe Sansa was right about Littlefinger being dangerous…maybe._ Not even Ramsay's smiles were half as menacing as the one the Lone Wolf had just seen.

"Do you know where your brothers are now?"

"Robb and Jon are dead, Bran's still at the Dreadfort, and I don't know where Rickon is…not really. Are you going to send someone to rescue them?"

"When the time is right," replied Littlefinger. "Domeric Bolton was King of the North, was he not?"

"Robb was King of the North," snapped Arya.

"And then Roose Bolton and Edwyn Frey killed him along with your mother. Lord Bolton's son Domeric was the next King in the North and – at least until your brothers are found – the next Lord of Winterfell. Of course, Domeric Bolton is dead now. He was murdered by some bastard along with his father." For all that the Lone Wolf hated Lord Bolton's eldest son, his death brought her no joy. In truth, she felt sorry for him. It wasn't that Arya was sad about his death…not really. It was just…he risked his life to help her escape was all. The Lone Wolf would never forget that…no matter how much she hated the stupid Bolton. "As his wife, you now have a stronger claim to both The North and your home than your sister," continued Littlefinger.

"But I didn't even want to marry Domeric or be some stupid Queen. Bran or Rickon can rule The North and Sansa can marry some Southron Lord's heir. She'd be happier that way; I know she would! Sansa, she…she never even liked living in The North…not really. Can't I just be Lord of Winterfell instead and let one of my brothers be King in the North? Is there a way I could trade claims with my brothers?" _Lord Bolton would be disappointed if I didn't keep any of the stupid titles, most like._ Although Arya hated her late good-father as much as ever, there was still a part of her that could hardly bare the mere thought of disappointing him…in truth, part of her would always feel that way, most like. It was the bad part…the part of the Lone Wolf that still felt guilty about killing the late Lord of the Dreadfort.

"Sansa could be the leader The North deserves…the leader it needs, but I can understand why after spending so much time in her shadow you'd want your own day in the sun."

"Day in the sun? I don't under–"

"Or do you renounce your claim?"

"Renounce my claim? Why can't I just be Lord of Winter–"

"It would be the unselfish course of action to recognize your sister's claim, wouldn't you agree?" Arya shrugged.

"Maybe it would and maybe it wouldn't; I don't know. I don't care who gets to be a stupid old Queen as long as its not me, but I'm not going to renounce something just because you tell me to either, idiot. At least…not without thinking about it for a while by myself."

"What's there to think about? If you truly care for your sister then you'll let her fulfill her destiny without attempting to add any needless complications." Arya rolled her eyes and began walking faster. _The High Hall has to be around here somewhere; why can't this stupid old creep just leave me alone? He's just trying to trick me somehow, most like._

"Mayhaps my wife's language was indelicate, but in truth, she was not entirely mistaken about your appearance. A horse-faced child would be entirely unsuitable as a Queen, I think." _How does he know about that name?_

"Sansa, she…she told you about that," asked Arya, her voice started trembling and the Lone Wolf nearly stopped in her tracks. She could feel her eyes growing watery at the thought of this betrayal and it took all the Lone Wolf's self-restraint to conceal the bitter pain Littlefinger's words had just caused her. _I won't let him see me cry. Never! Go away, you stupid…stupid…stupidhead!_

"I shouldn't answer that; I'd hate to think that I was the cause of any bad blood between you and your sister. Forgive me, I assumed you knew that your sister would oft laugh about the names she called you at Winterfell."

"Shut up! I mean…I…I don't want to talk anymore. Leave me alone!"

"You were at the Red Wedding weren't you? I heard someone else helped cause your kin's deaths at The Twins…someone who was neither a Bolton nor a Frey. You wouldn't happen to know who that was, would you?" _Why is he looking at me like that? Does he know?_

"I…I just –"

"You just what," wheezed Littlefinger. The two-legged weasel suddenly seemed to be towering over Arya like some sort of giant grumpkin and the Lone Wolf looked down at the ground in shame.

"I…I didn't mean to…I just…I never meant for…please, I didn't mean to get anyone killed!"

"Oh of course, we both know that you didn't mean to get your mother and brother killed, but some people might not understand. Your sister, for instance…" _Littefinger knows it's my fault mother and Robb are dead. But how could he…it…it doesn't matter…not really. If Sansa finds out, she'll hate me again just like when we were at Winterfell and I can't lose anyone else._

"S-S-Sansa loves me, so you…you'd better stop…s-stop trying to say shh-she doesn't! I…umm…I already told her and she forgave –"

"You told her everything you did?"

"Well…I…I mean…I didn't tell her everything…not really."

"I'm sure it would break her heart if she knew the truth."

"It would not!"

"No? Just imagine what Cat and your older brother must think of you already… Can you feel their pain and disappointment? I can see in your eyes that you know how much misery you've already caused your house. It haunts you even now, doesn't it? Do you truly wish to add to your sins by forcing me to tell Lady Sansa what really happened at The Twins? Hasn't your sister suffered enough without your help?"

"I didn't…I mean…I just…I thought Lord Bolton was…I didn't know Lord Bolt-Bolton was going to kill…I didn't know! I swear! You have to believe me," begged Arya.

"I want to believe you and yet…"

"What?"

"I fear your actions left you in a far better position politically and your stubborn instance on clinging to an ill-gotten claim…well…it raises questions. Mayhaps you acted with ulterior motives at The Twins…"

"NO! It…it wasn't like that, I swear! Lord Bolton, he…he tricked me!"

"No doubt. Of course, I'm sure you can understand why most will have their suspicions, including your sister…"

"Please, you can't tell Sansa! If…if she finds out then I…I'll have no one left."

"That needn't ever happen so long as you do the right thing and support your sister's claim. I can think of no better way for you to prove that what you did at The Twins was truly just a tragic misunderstanding despite all appearances to the contrary. Of course, the truth does oft have a way of getting out sooner or later. Mayhaps it would be for the best if you simply renounced your claim and then disappeared."

"Disappeared?"

"Yes. Live amongst the smallfolk for the rest of your life in some place far, far away under a fake name. They won't care what horrible things you've done to your kin." _Why do you even care so much about my stupid claim anyway? And why would anyone want to be some stupid Queen? I hated it! But if…if Littlefinger wants me to do something then it's bad for Bran, Rickon, Sansa, and me, most like. I can't just do what he says. Never! Else I'd probably be putting my kin in danger…somehow. Only a fool would do whatever it is Littlefinger told them to do. He wants to hurt my family; I know he does! And if I go away forever then there will be left in the Eyrie to protect Sansa from Littlefinger besides. I won't get anyone else in my family killed ever again! Don't worry, mother, I…I'll protect Sansa from Littlefinger…somehow. Maybe then you can forgive me for getting you and Robb killed…maybe. I really didn't mean to; I swear! Please, you…you have to believe me, mother! I never wanted the Boltons to hurt you and Robb. But if Littlefinger tells Sansa what I did…_

"Please, I –"

"Think very carefully about your next words. Oh and one more thing, let's keep this conversation between us. We wouldn't want your sister to learn about it, would we," sneered Littlefinge as the Lone Wolf ran away like a pup with its tail tucked between its legs. Arya hated doing that; it made her feel like some stupid, frightened little girl and not a wolf at all…yet it was the only thing she could seem to do in that moment. Soon, bitter tears began flowing down the Lone Wolf's cheeks, but at least Littlefinger never saw those. It wasn't until later, when she was drying her eyes right before entering the High Hall, that Arya realized the answer to this stupid problem had been staring her in the face the whole time.

 _Littlefinger really was spying on us; that has to be how he knew_ , the Lone Wolf decided. It was all Arya could do not to kick the stone floor as hard as she could in anger. _I bet he doesn't even know what happened at The Twins and was just letting me fill in the blanks in my own stupid head. Littlefinger, he…he told me not to tell Sansa about our talk just like Lord Bolton told me not to tell mother and Robb about all the bad things he said about them. Why would he do that unless he was scared of what Sansa would think about him if she knew what he said? Even if I can't tell Sansa what we talked about, but he can't either…not really. I just…have to figure out a way to prove to Sansa and aunt Lysa that he's our enemy is all. I won't let Littlefinger or anyone else trick me into thinking a member of my family hates me ever again though. Never! Aunt Lysa, she…she's in the High Hall,_ The Lone Wolf remembered. Arya took a few deep breaths, bit her lip, and quietly opened the door.

…

"Aunt Lysa," whispered the Lone Wolf. A fierce and bitter wind was howling through the High Hall of the Eyrie when Arya entered the room and she was shocked to see her aunt gazing out of some sort of massive hole in the middle of the room. The madwoman was cloaked in shadow and for a moment, the Lone Wolf wanted to race out of the room, but the Lady of the Vale turned her head and it was plainly too late to escape.

"Lady…hmm…we won't waste time trying to remember your name, yes?"

"I'm not a Lady. And my name is Arya! A-R-Y-A. Can't you just call me by my name, you stupid old witch," muttered the Lone Wolf as she made her way over to her aunt.

"WHAT WAS THAT," roared the Lady of the Vale, focusing upon her youngest niece with the intensity of a falcon in the dive as it prepared to snatch some hapless rabbit off the ground. A chill went down Arya's spine the moment that she looked at her aunt's face.

If Littlefinger was the type of person whose voice betrayed his intentions, Lysa Arryn was the type whose eyes always told an honest tale…and what the Lone Wolf saw when she looked directly into her aunt's eyes terrified her. They were like two blue moons, each smoldering with hatred, both making it plain that if ever there was a woman born without a drop of pity in her heart then surely that woman was the Lady of the Vale. As for the whites of the madwoman's eyes, they were like some sort of terrible storm whose winds were as cold and bitter as a falcon using its beak to rip out the entrails of some poor, wounded kitten with mechanical precision. Soon a familiar smile – one as terrifying as it was wide – crept across Lysa Arryn's face and Arya could feel long, claw-like fingernails digging into her left shoulder like the razor-sharp talons of a monstrous falcon slicing through the flesh of a frightened, newborn wolf pup.

"OWWWW! You're hurting me!"

"What…did you…SAY?"

"I…I only…I just asked why there's a big hole in the f-f-floor, aunt…OWWWW aunt Lysa."

"Oh that? That's just the moon door."

"The moon door?"

"Yes, dear, the moon door. It's were we send the bad people in the Eyrie, yes? You're not a bad person, are you?"

"OWWWWWWW! STOP DOING…I mean…umm…no, aunt Lysa."

"No, of course you're not a bad child."

"OWW! STOP IT! Why do you keep hurting OWWWWWWW! Do you have any idea how sharp your stupid fingernails OWWWWWWW!"

"You're nothing like your sister, yes? Just an innocent little girl who would never try to seduce my Petyr." _Please take him; you can have Littlefinger! No one in Westeros wants him except for you, I promise._ "That's right, you're much too young to steal him away...unlike that fornicating Falia who is always throwing herself at him. Such a hateful little thing she is, yes?"

"What's a 'fornicating Falia?'" _That was stupid. I should NEVER ask aunt Lysa any questions, especially when she's talking about Littlefinger. That's like asking Lord Vargo about why he always pronounced certain words wrong._

"I'm talking about your whore of a sister, you empty-headed child! Who else would I be calling a fornicating Falia? You really are as dumb as you look, aren't you?"

"HEY! I'm not dumb and my sister is not a…OWWWWW!"

"You don't think I see the way she throws herself at him? Mayhaps a simpleton such as yourself didn't notice, but I did; oh yes...I...DID! The little slut would have me think I'm like a mother to her one minute only to spend the next hour lusting after my Petyr. Mayhaps when you're older, you'll understand why my Petyr makes every woman wet with envy. Oh the things that man does can do with his tongue; no other man has ever kissed me in the place he –"

"GROSS! Leave me alone! OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" Normally, the Lone Wolf would've swatted her aunt's hand away the moment the madwoman began digging those stupid fingernails – which may well have gone right through Arya's shirt, although it was difficult to know for sure – into her should, but she was far too frightened of what her aunt might do.

"An innocent child, yes? Of course, looks can be deceiving. You could be still the same as your sister once you reach Sansa's age, yes?"

"Can I go now? Please?"

"You asked about the moon door. It offers such a beautiful view, yes? Mayhaps you'd like to see it for yourself…" Suddenly, Arya felt a second hand wrap itself around her throat and before the Lone Wolf could react, her aunt – using a type of strength seldom available to anyone except those who are well and truly insane – had pinned her to the ground.

"What is your problem? Get off! Let me go!"

"As you wish," replied the Lady of the Vale forcing her youngest niece's body so close to the edge of the moon door that the Lone Wolf's head was completely over the edge. Arya's eyes grew as wide as saucers as the harsh wind pounded her face. As a result, she had to scream in order to be heard.

"WAIT! AUNT LYSA, PLEASE, I…I DON'T WANT…DON'T DROP ME THROUGH THE MOON DOOR!"

"Are you sure? You did say a moment ago to let you go, no?"

"I'M SURE! WAIT…WHAT ARE YOU…NO! DON'T THROW ME OUT THE…HELP! SOMEONE!"

"This is what happens to bad people in the Eyrie! LOOK DOWN! LOOK DOWN! LOOK DOWN! LOOK DOWN!"

"PLEASE, I DIDN'T MEAN TO BE BAD! I'M SOOOOORRRRRRRY!"

Do you know what will happen when you fall through the clouds and hit the jagged rocks below? Your head will split open like a coconut and then all the King's horses and all the King's men won't be able to put you back together again."

"HEEEEEEEELP MEEEEEEE! PLEASE, WHATEVER I DID, I'M REALLY SORRY! I DIDN'T MEAN IT! I SWEAR! DON'T LET GO," Arya screamed. By now the Lady of the Vale had forced the upper half of her youngest niece's body all the way over the edge of the moon door. _Not today! Not today! Not today! Not today!_

"Mayhaps I should give you a chance, yes? Do you truly wish to prove yourself worthy of life in a place as elegant as the Eyrie?"

"YES! YES, I DO! PLEASE, DON'T LET GO!" Suddenly, Arya felt her aunt pull her all the way back into the Eyrie. _If I weighed even a few pounds more then we might've both fallen…_ Arya soon realized that her teeth were chattering and her body was shaking uncontrollably. In truth, the Lone Wolf hadn't been in such a state of shock since the night she killed Lord Vargo.

"Good," Lysa curtly replied. "Then mayhaps we will let you live here after all, yes?"

"Th-th-th-thank you, I –"

"I don't recall asking you a question. Such a rude and ill-mannered child, yes?" _Rude? You…you're calling me rude? After what you just did? Not for the first time since she arrived at the Eyrie,_ Arya found herself at a total loss for words, unable to do anything except silently blink and reflect upon how much more well-adjusted everyone was at the Dreadfort. "You will watch your sister and my Petyr for me, yes?"

"I don't under–"

"Did my sister drop you on the head when you were a newborn," hissed Lysa.

"Umm…no."

"FIRST LIE! You wouldn't remember if she did, would you? You can't be sure that you were telling the truth, yes?"

"I…wait…what?"

"I see I'm going to have to spell everything out for you. You're going to tell me if my husband and your sister behave inappropriately around each other and in return I shall let you keep your life. You will spy on them for me, yes? But if I so much as think you might be breaking faith with me, then out the moon door you'll go. Do you understand?"

"Are you out your…I…I mean…umm…yes, aunt Lysa," Arya mumbled, desperate to get as far away from Lysa Arryn and her stupid moon door as possible. The Lone Wolf wanted to hate the madwoman, but in truth, she was too scared of her aunt to let herself articulate such a thought…even in her own mind.

"Good girl. Run along now. Off with you! Shoo. I can hardly stand the sight of you. And stay away from my Robin! He's a very bright young man and doesn't need some half-wit like you filling his head with your paranoid delusions."


	42. Shireen I and Rickon I

**Shireen | Rickon**

 **Shireen**

Lord Davos had begged the young Queen not to visit the Red Woman alone and in truth, she wanted nothing more than to heed her Regent's advice. Not only did Shireen have no desire to spend so much as half a second in the same room as that evil liar, but she'd just begun to get her stutter under control and was worried that the mere stress of speaking with the person responsible for taking away both of her parents could undo all the progress she'd made. Lord Davos certainly thought so and as much as the young Queen sometimes hated to admit it, he was oft right about these things. More importantly, even if the Onion Regent had betrayed House Baratheon by preventing the Red Woman's execution, he was still the only person whom Shireen knew she could always rely upon to look out for her.

However, the worst part about Lady Melisandre wasn't the strange way she spoke nor the horrible crimes she asked men to commit in service of her evil fire God; it was her smile. The Red Woman always seemed to have a single expression resting upon her face and it was at once knowing, sympathetic, mocking, cruel, dangerous, arrogant, unforgiving, and merciful. It was the sort of smile that allowed a man to see anything he pleased…only to devour anyone foolish enough to believe they'd seen more than an illusion.

An honest King – the greatest man in Westrosi history as far as Shireen was concerned – once gazed upon this face and took its wicked whispers to heart. Before long, he believed himself the only man capable of saving Westeros…until the voice in his ear told him to kill himself in some scary fire so that he could become the hero Westeros needed. However, the young Queen knew the truth: her father already was that man long before he let the Red Woman destroy him. There was a woman who saw in Lady Melisandre's smile a warm, comforting light that would guide her as she struggled to make sense of the cruel world around her. For Selyse Baratheon, that path ended with a drooling husk of a woman who was too broken in body and mind to even chew her own food without assistance. Even a wise Regent had let himself be tricked into thinking the smile was a deliberate provocation from his own personal enemy, but Shireen knew better. _Lady Melisandre doesn't care about anything or anyone except her stupid fire God. She sees the rest of us – Lord Davos, my parents, me, the Lords father hated…everyone – as tools she can use as she pleases. I won't let Lady Melisandre use me for whatever her evil fire God's plot is; she can't fool me. I know what she really is…_

Even so, it seemed…wrong – mayhaps even cruel – to just let someone rot away in a cell on some island for the rest of their life. And so it was that the young Queen found herself standing face-to-face with the woman who'd done so much damage to House Baratheon simply by whispering in one good man's ear. As Shireen studied the women who had reduced her life to a pile of ashes in a single night, she found that she no longer regretted her decision to spare Lady Melisandre's life…which wasn't to say that she wasn't angry at the woman in red.

"I knew you would come here today, Your Grace. I saw it in the flames while I was being transported to this very cell."

"Stuh-Stop doing that; it –"

"It frightens you?"

"Yes. Plee-plee-please stop act-acting like you know ev-everything that's aboww-aboww-aboww-ABOUT to happen."

"I only know that which the Lord of Light has chosen to show me. His fires burn bright in even on Dragonstone…even in this very hallway. They burn within you too, Your Grace, just as they burned within your father. And your father's blood runs through your vains besides."

"You're do-doing it again! Do you want me to lee-leave you in here fore-fore-forever?"

"You won't. I've seen –"

"If you say one more word aboww-about what you sss-sss-saw in your stu-stupid flames, I'll lee-leave you in here fore-forever." The Red Woman simply shrugged.

"All I ask is that you listen to what I have to say. Please, Your Grace, for all our sakes, you must order every man here to begin mining dragonglass. The Lord of Light showed me a vision of a man killing an Other with a weapon made from –"

"I…I re-re-remember what happened to my fuh-fuh-fuh-FATHER when he took your ad-advice. I'm not bur-bur-bur-bur-BURNING anyone, no mat-matter what."

"The world may seem simple enough when we are young, Your Grace, but there comes a time when we must needs follow the path the Lord of Light has chosen for us…no matter where it leads. No matter the cost. No matter the how painful that path may be. Your father understood that all too well; he knew that The Enemy – the only enemy who truly matters – is real. We will all be forced to make sacrifices for the Lord of Light in the days ahead. Do not trouble yourself over those who must needs give their lives so that The Enemy may be defeated. In death, they can be soldiers in the army of the one true God; that is so much more than any of them could ever hope to be in life. Why should all of the living die to prolong the deaths of a few doomed men? Is it not kinder, mayhaps even more noble, to burn a handful of inconsequential souls so that the rest may live?" _The Enemy? What are you talking about? Whatever it is, I don't like it; it…it's evil to burn people alive._

"NO! That's horrible and even if I wanted to kill some-someone, I wouldn't bur-bur-burn them."

"There is no purer death than death by fire, Your Grace."

"What if I…I…if I…what if I buh-buh-buh-BURNED you? Would it be a pure dehh-death then?"

"You won't…although in truth, I would welcome such a fate were it in service of the Lord of Light."

"I wuh-want you to bur-bur-bur-BURN for what you did to my fam-fam-fam…did to…did to my fam-fam-fam-fam-FAMILY!"

"We all wish to do a great many things and yet even the weakest of us seldom manage to indulge all their base desires, Your Grace. What you and I want does not matter. Family, honor, love, loyalty, compassion…one must be ready to sacrifice all of those things and more on a moment's notice. There is nothing noble about clinging to such antiquated concepts nor are you doing those who must needs be sacrificed any kindness by refusing to burn them. In truth, nothing could be half so cruel even if few realize it at the time. Do you think they will thank you when the army of the dead comes for them? One way or another, the day will come when you learn that nothing matters right now except that we carry out the Lord of Light's will. It is through him and him alone that we shall find a light which shines brightly enough to guide us through The Long Night." _The Long Night? I've read about that and it isn't even real. Stop trying to scare me!_

"I don't bell-bell-bell-BELIEVE in your stu-stupid Lord of Luh-Luh-Light."

"No? Your father did. Whatever you may think of me, Your Grace, we both know that he'd have wanted you to do the same."

"He was ruh-wrong," replied Shireen, rolling her eyes. _Do you really think I don't know what you're trying to do by talking about what my father believed? How stupid do you think I am?_ "If he did-didn't listen to you, he'd still be alive right now. And any Guh-Guh-God that wuh-would ask me to buh-buh-burn in-innocent pee-people isn't even worth following be-besides."

"You don't want to honor your father's wishes, Your Grace?" _You just don't get it, do you?_

"What did your fluh-flames say would hap-hap-hap-hap-HAPPEN to you if you keep try-trying to trick me by talking abuh-about my fah-fah-fah-fah-fah-FATHER?" The Red Woman opened her mouth…only to close it again without making a sound and Shireen allowed herself the smallest of smiles. The young Queen's life had never been an easy one, even on the best of days, and she had long ago learned to savor the few victories that came her way. Causing the Red Woman to show even the slightest hint of fear was a small one to be sure, but it was a victory all the same. And it was something Shireen had never seen anyone else do before besides.

"Mayhaps some things are best left unsaid, Your Grace."

"I don't like you taww-taww-TALKING about my puh-puh-puh-PARENTS."

"Very well. Mayhaps it would be best if you looked into the flames yourself and saw the truth with your own eyes as your father did," replied the Red Woman, gesturing toward the flickering flames of a torch hanging from the wall to the young Queen's left. "Go on. You're stronger than you realize…strong enough to see why we must all follow the Lord of Light."

"What are you taww-talking about," asked Shireen, glancing at the flickering flames of the torch. "I…I don't eve-even believe…in…your…stu-stu-stupid…I don't…" _NO! That…that's impossible._

"Yes, you do. Mayhaps not before, but it is plain that he has already blessed you with a vision. Tell me, what has the Lord of Light blessed you with?"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" _This has to…has to be some sort of trick or…or…or…_

"Do you see them, Your Grace? The army of the dead?"

"Wuh-wuh-wuh-WHAT are those things?"

"They are Others, Your Grace…the children of darkness. Every man they strike down becomes another soldier in the army of the dead. They are the chill of winter. They are the darkness the never ends. And they are coming, Your Grace…for all of us."

"Who leads them?"

"The Enemy."

"Wuh-what? Who is the wuh-one with the crown of huh-huh-huh-HORNS on his head? Why is he rye-riding…but…buh-buh-but I th-th-th-THOUGHT drag-dragons were dead. That's im-impossible…isn't it?"

"You saw him?"

"Saw who? May-make it stop! I want the hor-hor-horned man to go uh-uh-away! Stuh-stuh-stuh-STOP look-looking at me! Plee-please, I…I'm scared!"

"The Lord of Light has never granted me such a vision. To see The Enemy himself…"

"If you are real then you bet-bet-bet-BETTER may-make it stop right now, you stu-stu-stupid fire guh-guh-GOD! I…I don't wuh-want to see this any-anymore. I…I want to see some-something guh-guh…something guh-guh-GOOD." The flames turned green and flared up as if preparing to swallow the young Queen whole.

"It is not for us to give commands to the Lord of –"

"Who are those…wait, I don't…I don't un-un-understand. That…that's me, but I…I'm a wuh-wuh-woman grown and I can talk nuh-nuh-normally. I…I'm a muh-muh-muh-mother and I…but how? The grayscale is still there, so who wuh-would…why would any-any-anyone ever wed…" _The baby, it…it even has my eyes,_ the young Queen realized as tears of joy began dribbling down her cheeks. _We…we all look so happy there…the three of us. I wonder if it is a boy or girl. Wait…Lady Stark? That can't be right, I'm a Baratheon, not a Stark. And I thought the Starks were dead besides. But if it is true then maybe…maybe I could still have a family someday…maybe. Rickon Stark? I wish knew where he was so that I could meet him at least once and find out whether any of this is true or not._ As if in reply, the flames showed a boy only a few years younger than Shireen sitting on a giant's shoulders entering a large castle with several soldiers and a trembling man trailing behind. Suddenly, someone whispered a name and the young Queen instantly knew it was where she would find the man she'd just seen.

 _White Harbor? Where is that? Lord Davos would know, most like. I'll have to bring him with me; one of those other Lords can be in charge while we're gone. Even if it's only something that might happen and not what will happen, I could still have a family…some day…maybe. I have to know if its true; I need…I have to go to White Harbor. Davos won't like this one bit… It's a good thing he always lets me make the final decision about everything even though he's Regent._ As horrible as Shireen's winter nightmare had been, she could feel the fear and anger melting away. It was as if the flames were somehow burning away anything that could get in the way of the young Queen's enjoyment of this new vision of a brighter tomorrow.

 _If the good things were true, then the bad ones must be too. That's why I'm being shown this; that evil fire monster that Lady Melisandre prays to knew that I'd feel this way. It knew how badly I'd want to believe the good things…that I'd make myself believe everything I saw because I needed this part to be true._ Shireen didn't like being used – not even by a God trying to stop some sort of undead army – and yet she found herself unable to resist the urge to meet the young boy whom the flames foretold would bring such happiness to her life one day…assuming he even existed. _It's all true,_ the young Queen decided. _I won't say anything about it when I get to White Harbor, but I'll still know it's true. No matter what happens, I'll never forget what I saw. I'm going to be a mother and I…I'll have a family someday._

"Not even the highest priests can control what sort of visions they receive. You…you shouldn't have that power," murmured the Red Woman. _What power? Why is she looking at me like that? Is…is she jealous? I'm going to have to release her now, aren't I? I should probably bring Lady Melisandre to White Harbor too so that no one here tries to kill her for what she did to father. She's the only one who seems to know anything about those dead monsters._ The Red Woman smiled as though she'd just read the young Queen's mind and Shireen shuddered.

 _…_

 **Rickon**

"I'm the King and I can do whatever I want! You said I was King of the North because Bran is dead," snapped Rickon as he slammed his fists on the armrests of the fine marble chair which Lord Manderly had crafted for him in the stupid Merman's Court.

"And what would your parents think of these demands of yours if they were alive, Your Grace? Mass executions were never your father's way and many of those men wish you no harm besides. In truth, most have been loyal friends to House Stark for their entire lives," replied Lord Glover.

"I don't care! It's not enough to just hang the Bolton's heads from the gates of Winterfell forever."

"Your Grace, I doubt anything – heads or otherwise – is left of the Boltons after whatever happened to the Dreadfort. In truth, that is what we should be discussing right now. The Dreadfort was reduced to an uninhabited pile of rubble in a few days at most and no one has any idea what happened. This is –"

"I don't want to hear about The Bad Place; it's gone and it better stay gone! I want…I…I want every single Lord who ever bent the knee to those evil walnut-heads dead! OFF WITH THEIR DUMB HEADS NOW!" _They'll pay for what they did to mother, Bran, Arya, and Robb. No one will ever do anything like that to a Stark ever again. Never! Not after they see what I did to everyone who ever did anything to help a Bolton…_

 _The traitors, they…they'll be too afraid of doing anything bad because they'll see that if they do, I'll do something even worse to them. Whenever Lord Manderly forces me to marry someone at some dumb wedding, those stupid old Lords of the North and Riverlands will be too scared to ever betray me. They'll see what happens to anyone who tries to hurt a Stark! I…I don't want to do this, but there's no other way. The only way to keep the next Lord Bolton from killing more Starks is to be an even scarier monster than all the Boltons and Freys combined. Why doesn't Lord Manderly understand? I wouldn't kill anyone if it were up to me, but it isn't…not if I want to keep my kin safe._

 _I don't believe Bran and Arya are dead either. They can't be gone, I…I need them. This is too scary to do by myself. Arya was so brave around the Boltons that it made me feel safe and even if Bran didn't know who he was, I never felt alone when he was around. I want…I need someone to make this less scary. I can't be all alone like this forever, I can't…I just…I…I should've put that stupid glass in my own food instead of the Domeric's…_

 _NO! If I kill myself, there will be no one left who can protect Bran and Arya. I have to find them before the bad Northern Lords do! It's not safe to trust most of the Lords, they could just be pretending to be loyal the way the Boltons and Theon did. That's why Robb and mother died, they didn't know that everyone who isn't our kin could be a traitor…but I do. Even Lord Umber is only loyal to me because he's too scared of what I'll do if he ever tries to cross me, most like. I bet he'd sell me to the Freys if I didn't always talk about killing people whenever he's around. I HATE FEELING THIS WAY! I hate it! I hate it! It makes me hate myself whenever I have to pretend to be like this. Everything would be better if I had someone who could things less scary. At least I can trust Hodor…_

"Your Grace, those men had no choice except to feign loyalty to House Bolton. The Northern houses have served your family faithfully for centuries and will gladly do so again for many more if you will only give them a chance to prove themselves honorable men," replied Lord Manderly. The fat man was a good person – that much had been made plain to Rickon long ago – and yet the young king oft found himself resenting the way the Lord of White Harbor was always bossing him around. _A king is supposed to be able to do as he pleases, so why are all the grown-ups trying to use it as some dumb excuse to tell me what to do? They don't know what it was like at The Bad Place. Lord Manderly is a good Lord, but he can't know…_

"That's not true; they all had a choice. Lord Glover and Theon Turncloak smuggled me out of The Bad Place, the Umbers found Hodor and brought him to White Harbor so he could prove who Bran and me were if either of us survived what the Boltons did to Winterfell, your family was plotting against the stupid Boltons, and you said the Mormonts wouldn't even pretend to bend the knee at all. They were led by some little girl and that stupid walnut-headed bastard cut Bran once because she'd sent Lord Bolton a raven saying the Mormonts would die before they ever bent the knee to a Bolton usurper."

"Hodor," exclaimed the giant, proudly smiling at the mention of his name.

"Tell me, Your Grace, do you truly want to kill every Lord who feared for the safety of their kin after your brother's murder? That would mean killing every Lord except for Lady Mormont," noted Lord Manderly moments before shoving a piece of lamprey pie into his mouth.

"No," sighed the young king. For all that Rickon understood the importance of acting like a bloodthirsty walnut-head around the Northern Lords, it was simply too heavy a burden. After all, a man can only pretend to be someone he hates for so long.

"Thank the Gods," replied Lord Glover, wiping a wave of sweat off his brow..

"I don't really want to hurt anyone except the Boltons, the Freys, and the Turncloak. The rest…I…I'm just angry. As long as they don't make me angry or tell me to go to sleep early like mother used to, the other Northern Lords can keep their walnut-heads. _But they better not do anything I don't like…" This isn't fair! I don't want to act like this; I hate talking like a Bolton! Why can't you just not be traitors?_

"I certainly wouldn't object to Theon Greyjoy's execution, Your Grace. Even the Kingslayer had more honor than that treasonous whore. Shall I have him brought to the Merman's Court so that you may sentence him," asked Lord Manderly. _Stop talking with your mouth full. I can see the chewed up food and it's gross!_

"No, I…I can't just kill Theon Turncloak…not after he helped Lord Glover rescue me from The Bad Place; I don't know what to do with him. Being King is really hard! It makes my head hurt and…and I…I…I want my family back. Arya and Bran can't be dead; I…I won't let them die! I order them to still be alive; they can't just leave me all alone like this. I had to be mean and try to hurt people at The Bad Place so the Boltons would want to hurt me instead of my family, but I hate this. The bastard liked hurting Bran and Arya wouldn't stop talking back to those stupid walnut-heads, so it was the only way I could protect them. Bran can't die as the thing that stupid walnut-headed bastard made him; that creature, it…it wasn't even my brother. And Arya, I…I thought she died in King's Landing like everyone said. If she survived for so long, she must've escaped from The Bad Place too. They're alive and…and…and as King I order you to have your men find Bran and Arya. I want them brought to White Harbor. The rest of my family is dead, but I won't lose anyone else ever again. Never! Never! Never! NEVER! They're not allowed to die without my permission. I…I'm the King and I…I WANT ARYA AND BRAN NOW!"

"Your Grace, I'm truly sorry, but they're gone."

"You don't understand; I should've been the one who died at The Bad Place, not them. We have to find them now because I'm the only one who can help them. Bran doesn't even know who he is anymore and Arya won't stop trying to find me until she gets herself killed somehow. It's not safe for them to be away from me and everyone except Arya who ever left where I was ended up dead. When I'm not around, people I care about die; that's how it always works. Bran and Arya, they…they're my only family and I need…they need me. I want my family back! I don't want to be all alone forever," sobbed Rickon.

"Hodor. Hodor," the giant solemnly replied as he wrapped his arms gently around a frightened little boy who had just realized that he was truly alone in the world. Suddenly, the doors to the Merman's Court swung open and a soldier entered the room.

"Your Grace, my Lords," shouted the man.

"What do you *sniff* want? I'm *sniff* I'm doing *sniff* important King *sniff* King things right *sniff* right now."

"Your Grace?"

"Are you just going to stand there? Go on, out with it," snapped Lord Manderly.

"We just received a raven from Dragonstone, my Lord. The Iron Throne, they know King Rickon is here and the Queen in the South is apparently sailing here because she wants to meet with His Grace and his advisors." _Just what…just what I need, another boring grown-up who will probably try to boss me around. Whoever this stupid Queen is, she better not make me angry or I'll cut off her head before she has a chance to plan a Red Wedding._


	43. Arya XVIII

**Arya**

"Can't you just pretend to be happy? Even if you don't want the poor thing, you should still act like you do…at least whenever Lord Baelish is around. It's easy! Look at how much fun I'm having with Queen Sniffles. She's already been trained too, watch. 'Come!,'" the eldest Starkling commanded. Sure enough, the wolf pup leapt onto her bed and curled up in its owner's lap. _Maybe it's good that Sansa has a pet even if Littlefinger gave it to her…maybe. She's been smiling more…or at least, I think she has. Just because I hate that stupid Mockingbird doesn't mean I have to hate everything he does…not really. I…I'm glad he gave Sansa Queen…wait a minute…_

"Queen Sniffles? You actually named yours 'Queen Sniffles?'" _That's the stupidest name I've ever heard!_

"What? What's wrong with 'Queen Sniffles?'"

"You can't be serious."

"You're just jealous you didn't think of it first, aren't you?" _Why would anyone wish they'd thought of calling a wolf 'Queen Sniffles?' I'd be embarrassed, not jealous!_

"Whatever."

"Fine, be that way, but I think 'Queen Sniffles' is a lovely name and so does she."

"You would name it something like that."

"Don't listen to her, Queen Sniffles, Arya's just too stubborn to admit how much she likes your name." _Sansa, she…she seems happier than she did when I first got to the Eyrie. Maybe she really meant what she said about being glad I was her sister…maybe. And aunt Lysa's not making me pretend to be some stupid chambermaid anymore either._

In truth, not even the Lady of the Vale was mad enough to believe that her youngest niece could pass for a chambermaid. Shortly after nearly throwing her youngest niece through the moon door, Lysa Arryn had decided to pretend that the Lone Wolf was some orphaned half-wit whom she was permitting to live in the Eyrie so Robin would have a friend closer to his own age. At first, the Lone Wolf had been afraid that the knights of the Vale would hate her because she was chosen to be that drooling creep's friend instead of one of their own children, but for some reason all the knights seemed relieved. In truth, it was almost as though they were afraid of letting their children anywhere near Robin for some reason. The Lord of the Eyrie was very…strange, but if nothing else, the Lone Wolf was pleasantly surprised to find that her cousin seemed to have little interest in speaking to her. _Robin's not as bad as aunt Lysa. He only cares about people who his mother might throw through the moon door. I don't like the way he stares at Sansa and follows her around when he thinks no one's looking, but he's not dangerous…not really._

 _Maybe…maybe the reason Sansa's been so happy is that she has a pack again now that I'm here…maybe. Even if she hated me at Winterfell, Sansa loves me now; I know she does! In winter, the lone wolf dies and the pack survives. I…I finally have a pack again. Not a fake one like I did when I thought Lord Bolton or Gendry were my friends…a real pack. And once we find Rickon…_ Suddenly, a second realization pierced the Lone Wolf's mind like a dagger to the heart and she began chewing her lip.

 _Sansa wouldn't love me anymore if she knew about mother and Robb though…not really. No one should want me…not anymore, it…it's my fault they're dead. I'm the one who deserved to die, not mother and Robb. I…I never meant for it to happen, I really didn't! Mother and Robb, they…they'd still be alive right now if…I hadn't been born. I…I didn't mean to get them killed._ The Lone Wolf looked down at the ground in shame.

"Sansa, would…would you…would you still –"

"Would I still what?"

"Nevermind. It…it's nothing."

"I don't know how Littlefinger convinced aunt Lysa to let three wolf pups wander through the Eyrie, but since he did, we might as well make the most of it. Arya, you should at least name the poor thing; you'll feel better if you play with her, I promise!" _I bet the whole Eyrie knows how Littlefinger convinced her after how loudly aunt Lysa was screaming his stupid name last night…_

"Will not! You and Robin can keep your stupid pets, I don't want anything from Littlefinger."

"The poor pup just wants attention and you act like its Joffrey reborn. Just try petting it or something."

Arya looked down at the wolf pup that had been hobbling along behind her all day. The three-legged dog plopped down on the ground, lifted its head in the air, perked up its ears, and looked its owner directly in the eye almost as though it were daring her to break eye-contact first. _Stop doing that! Lord Bolton used to look at me that way and I…I don't like it! Wait a minute…that doesn't even make any sense. It's a dog, not some stupid Bolton. Ramsay had dogs too…_

"You shouldn't look her in the eye. Wolves don't like that or at least…I don't think they do. Why are you still looking her in the eye? Are the two of you having a staring contest," sniggered the eldest Starkling.

"You don't understand, whoever looks away first is…I mean…umm…nevermind." _Why does everything keep reminding me of the stupid Boltons. I hate them! Them and their stupid Dreadfort! I don't want to think about them and Sansa said Lord Bolton's stupid children are dead besides. Stupid Boltons._ "I don't want anything from Littlefinger. I hate him!"

"For the last time, it's not your wolf's fault that Lord Baelish got her for you. It was just a gift, most like."

"I already have a wolf. Her name is Nymeria and I had to chase her away so the Lannisters wouldn't cut off her head."

"I remember. They killed Lady instead because you hit Joffrey," Sansa coldly replied. _That wasn't my fault! I'm not the one who cut off Lady's stupid head. And Joffrey deserved it besides. I wish…I…I should've killed him when I had the chance! Father would still be alive if I did and…no, that's stupid. He would've gotten killed trying to protect me, most like._

"I thought you said Litteflinger only got them for us as a way of apologizing for something he did before I got to the Eyrie." The Lone Wolf glanced at the large pup laying at her feet and once again, it looked her directly in the eye, stubbornly refusing to be the first to break eye contact. This time Arya couldn't help smiling at it, but she stared right back at her new friend. _I didn't look away first last time…not really. Sansa just…distracted me was all._

"I…I don't want to talk about Littlefinger anymore. Wait…you really are having a staring contest with the dog, aren't you? Seven Hells, Arya, you're the most stubborn person I've ever met. It's just a pup, you don't get a reward for having a longer attention span." _Maybe I can have a second wolf…maybe. I can't name her Nymeria and she's not even a direwolf besides…just some ordinary wolf pup. She's at least four times as big as Queen Sniffles, so maybe she has direwolf blood in her…maybe._ _If I'm going to keep her then she has to have a Stark name. It can't be some boring old Lady's name either. Father, he…he said that his sister liked to ride and practice with swords just like me._

"Fine, you can stay, Lyanna."

"Father always said you reminded him of her. Arya? Arya, are you even listening to me?" In truth, the Lone Wolf was focused on something far more important than whatever it was her older sister was rambling about. The Lone Wolf got down on her knees and put her face right in front of Lyanna's, taking great care not to break eye contact with her new friend…only for the massive pup to start licking her until she blinked.

"HEY! No fair, that's cheating!" Queen Sniffles barked as if announcing her agreement. _Why would Littlefinger give me a wolf pup too? Does he want someone to figure out who I am and try to avenge Robb's death? He wants Robin and Sansa to think he's their friend, most like, but he already knows I hate…wait a minute…_

"Littlefinger's doing this to try to scare me. I bet he gave me the one that was missing one of its legs on purpose. If he cut off one of Lyanna's front legs, I'll –"

"Arya, calm down. I…I'm sure Lyanna had three legs when…when he found her and…and…and you're…umm…you're overreacting. Five seconds ago you wanted…wanted nothing to do with the for dog." _Sansa knows I'm right, she just…doesn't want to say it out loud is all._

"I don't care, I…I changed my mind! And it wasn't a gift either…not really. People like Littlefinger don't just give you things…not unless they think it will get them something. He's not our friend, he just…wants something from us is all." Sansa shuddered. _Sansa knows Littlefinger's dangerous, but he's not like the Boltons…not really. He can't hurt you if you don't listen to his lies, so why is she so scared?_

"You don't have to tell me what Lord Baelish is; I know him better than anyone…better than you ever will. That's why I need you to pretend that you would never do anything to upset him, at least for now." _Why are you so afraid of him? Littlefinger only knows how to hurt people with words. I know not to trust him, I really do! He already tried to trick me and it didn't work…not really. He can't fool me, I…I won't let him! Never! He won't tell Sansa about what I've done either, else I can tell her about what he said to me. Even if he tried to lie about what he said, Sansa would believe me. I know she would!_

"I'll protect you from him, I really will! You'll see! I'm not afraid." As if in reply, Lyanna barked and began excitedly wagging her tail.

"I'm asking you as your sister to please trust me. If you keep acting like this, Lord Baelish will know that you consider him an enemy…if he doesn't already."

"Good. I hate him! Him and his stupid little finger!"

"ARYA!"

"What? I heard a guard say that's what his stupid nickname meant."

"Can…can we please talk about something else?"

"I know you hate him too, Sansa, but I promise that I won't let him hurt you."

"Seven Hells, I'm trying to protect you from him!"

"Wait…what?"

"Did it ever occur to you that Littlefinger might be able to have you killed if you're not careful?"

"I mean…umm…no," Arya sheepishly replied.

"What do you think would happen if he really thought you could keep him from getting something he wanted?"

"I'm not afraid…not really." _Maybe Littlefinger would tell Sansa about what I did if he was desperate enough…maybe._ The Lone Wolf bit her lip.

"We both know you're smarter than that whether you admit it or not. I hate Littlefinger more than you could ever know. I feel sick every time I see that monster's eyes crawling beneath my clothes, but I'd die if I thought he hurt you because of me."

"Why would he hurt me because of you?"

"Arya, I…I've known you since you were born. Something horrid happened on your journey to the Eyrie; I can tell. I'll never try to force you to tell me what it is and I…I know you'll tell me when you're ready besides." _Does she know what happened at the Twins too? Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"What if…what if I'm never ready?"

"Then mayhaps it was so dreadful that it would be cruel of me to make you relive that nightmare…whatever it was. Please show me the same courtesy."

"What did Littlefinger do to you? Did he hurt you? Did…did he try to…if he…I…I'll kill him and –"

"And even if you could kill him, which you can't, aunt Lysa would toss you through the moon door. You'd still die trying to protect me and I will not lose the only family I have left, no matter how stubborn or brave or stupid you tried to be; I…I won't have your blood on my hands, do you hear me? How are you going to keep anyone safe if you're already dead," snapped Sansa.

"I'm sorry, I…I didn't mean to worry you. I just…I'm just trying to help is all," mumbled Arya, looking down at the cold stone floor in defeat. Lyanna whimpered and began licking her owner's left shin.

"You can help by pretending to be happy for a few more weeks. I think we might be able to escape from the Eyrie soon. I…I didn't say anything because I was afraid you wouldn't be able to keep it a secret, but maybe –" _Littlefinger would be even more suspicious if I suddenly stopped acting wroth with him, most like. Wait a minute…_

"You have to stop talking right now!"

"There's a ship coming in about two weeks and –"

"Shut up!"

"It's okay. Ser Lothor Brune, he knows what…what Littlefinger tried to do to me. He must've seen somehow and when Ser Lothor tried to comfort me, I…I was able to convince him to help me escape from the Eyrie. I'll bring you with me and we can go North. It'll be safe now that the Boltons are gone and –"

"Littlefinger's spying on us, stupid."

"What? No, he can't…are you sure? You have to be sure. How do you know," asked Sansa turning near as pale as the clouds just below the moon door.

"He once called me horse-faced. He wouldn't know about that unless he was spying on us when –"

"Oh Gods, what if he heard…if he was spying on us right now, then…I…I need to think. I…I'll never get out of this horrid place," sobbed Sansa, burying her head in her hands as Queen Sniffles jumped out of her lap and began barking in alarm.

"Sansa, I can –"

"You can what? Protect me? You've never killed or hurt anyone. This isn't some stupid song or one of your imaginary adventures at Winterfell. People like Littlefinger, they…they always win. He's smarter, luckier, more powerful, and more dangerous than you. Littlefinger, he…he almost…he tried to… Why did…why didn't you tell me as soon as you realized he might be spying on us?"

"I…I thought you knew. You even said you knew Littlefinger better than anyone. He'd never leave us alone together…not really."

"Lord Baelish might kill you to punish me for this if he was listening just now. No, he…he'll try to use you to make…to make me let him…get out…now," hissed the eldest Starkling.

"What? Why? Sansa, I –"

"I SAID 'GET OUT!' LEAVE MY CHAMBERS!" _Sansa doesn't hate me…not really. She's just…scared of Littlefinger is all. Maybe she needs to blame someone until she calms down…maybe. Sansa won't be wroth with me once she realizes that Littlefinger can't hurt her anymore,_ Arya decided.

"It's okay, I…what can I do to help? Please, I…I want to help! Sansa?"

"I need…need to…need to think and…just take your stupid wolf and go away," moaned Sansa as Queen Sniffles began licking up her tears.

"But I –"

"NOW!"

"Lyanna's not stupid," Arya mumbled as she left her sister's chambers, wolf pup in tow. _I'm going to kill Littlefinger…somehow. He can't trick me! I…I won't let him. NEVER! He'll pay for whatever he did or tried to do to Sansa. I…I don't care if he can kill me, I won't let him hurt her like this ever again. I can't kill him right now though…not really. I just…need to be patient like Lord Bolton taught me is all. I'll only get one chance, most like._

…

After several days, it had become plain to the Lone Wolf that her task would be nowhere near as simple as she'd anticipated. Littlefinger was so careful – almost as though he thought anyone he met could be a potential assassin – that there was simply no way to safely kill or even hurt him…not really. Arya heard footsteps behind her and began chewing her lip. Sansa had been relieved when Ser Lothor wasn't executed, but Arya knew better. _Littlefinger knows Sansa's afraid of him spying on her, so he's just trying to trick us into lowering our guard, most like._

"DOGGY," Robin screamed appearing out of no where and charging toward Lyanna. The Lone Wolf quickly put herself between her cousin and her second wolf causing the tiny madman to stop dead in his tracks.

"Lyanna's missing a leg, Robin. You can't just crash into her like that or you'll hurt her."

"Oh. How come she's so big?"

"I don't know, she was just born that way, most like. Is aunt…I mean…your mother, she…she isn't angry at me, is she?" Robin shrugged.

"Maybe, I don't know. I want a new doggy."

"Didn't Littlefinger just give you one?"

"Falcon was too small. And he was a mean, bad, no good dog besides. He bit me when I tried to pull off his tail, so I made one of the guards open the moon door when no one else was in the High Hall and…and…and I made Falcon fly."

"YOU WHAT?"

"I kicked Falcon really hard in his dumb face and then dangled him by the legs. He peed himself right before I dropped him," added Robin, beaming with pride as though he'd slain some sort of fearsome giant. _Is he…is he bragging?_ "The stupid dog got what he deserved and his dumb tail didn't even come off when I told him to give it to me. That's what happens to people I don't like: I make them fly forever and ever and ever and ever."

"That's terrible! If you ever go near Lyanna again, I'll…I'll –"

"You'll shut up and do whatever I say, else I'll tell mother on you. There was a dumb Royce knight who said I was too old to have me special mommy milk and told me that I needed to learn how to be a good Lord. He was a bossy knight and I hate bossy knights. They're mean! The stupid Royce knight kept trying to tell me what do, so I told mother he tried to do bad grown-up things to me. I even cried whenever he came in the room. Stupid, mean bossy knight. I wouldn't have lied about him if he didn't try to come between me and my special mommy milk. After I told mother on him, he stopped trying to boss me around. He never bothered anyone ever again…" _Robin, he…he's not just some stupid spoiled part; he's a monster._

"Why…why are you telling me this?"

"Don't look so scared, cousin Arya, I don't want to hurt you because mother says we're the same blood even if you're a half-wit." _ME? You're the one who's still getting breastfed by his mother and throwing puppies off mountains._ "We're family so I can make anyone who has ever been bad or mean to you and cousin Sansa fly too. Is there anyone bad you need me to drop through the moon door, cousin Arya?"

"Not unless you can get your mother to drop Littlefinger through the moon door for me."

"I can make my mother do whatever I want, cousin Arya. I don't think she's very smart and she's always scared of silly things like the ghost of the little Lannister baby man. He was funny. I wish I got to make him fly!"

"Who?"

"The little Lannister baby man your mother brought to the Eyrie. Mother hated him, but I wish he stayed if I wasn't going to get to make him fly. I get more special mommy milk when mother's afraid people are going to hurt me. Why do you always say what you think to people?"

"Why do I…wait…what…what do you mean?"

"You shouldn't be so loud or talk about grown-up things in public. I don't want to be a good Lord. It sounds really hard and boring. It's more fun to sit around all day drinking special mommy milk and making people fly. Everyone thinks I'm stupid, so they let me do whatever I want. I'm not stupid though and…and…AND ANYONE WHO EVER CALLS ME THAT I…I…I MAKE THEM FLY! DON'T CALL ME STUPID! Anywho, you…umm…you want me to make father fly for you? He's been bad to you and cousin Sansa, is that it? That stupid butthead shouldn't be hurting my cousins! Hmm…making mother kill my father would be hard though," replied Robin, scratching his head. Suddenly, the boy's whole body made a wild jerking motion and he began giggling with excitement. Arya shuddered. _Wait a minute…_

"Did…did you just say Littlefinger is your father?"

"That's what mother said. Don't tell anyone though or I'll have to hurt myself and tell mother you attacked me. I don't think father likes me, but he gets me presents, so I haven't asked mother to make him fly. I could have her kill him for you, if you'll something for me. Is that okay?" For a moment, Arya found herself unable to do anything except stare open-mouthed at the babbling madman as she tried to decide whether her cousin was the dumbest evil genius or the smartest psychotic idiot in Westeros. Suddenly, the Lord of the Eyrie began clapping excitedly while laughing like a ticklish toddler.

"Funny face! Funny face! You made a funny face! Funny face!" Lyanna – evidentally unimpressed – yawned and went to sleep on the floor. _Joffrey, Lord Vargo, the Boltons, the Freys, aunt Lysa, Robin. Seven Hells, how do these people keep finding me?_

"GROSS! Stop drooling, right now!"

"Don't try to boss me around, cousin Arya. Bad things happen to people who try to boss me around…"

"Can you make your mother drop Littlefinger through the moon door or not?"

"Yes. I can make anyone I want fly. I can make people fly for you and cousin Sansa too. You're lots of fun to talk to because mother won't believe anything you say. I don't have to play pretend when we're the only ones around. I like you, so I won't let mother make you fly. I was going to have her kill you for being so ugly, but I changed my mind. Making father fly would be a lot of work and I hate work. It's really hard! If I help you, then you have to help me too, cousin Arya."

"I…umm…thank you, I…I think. What…what do…what do you want," Arya asked nervously as dark blue eyes studied her. In truth, Robin's eyes were like those of some savage bird of prey stalking a doomed rabbit. In that moment, her cousin's smile was so similar to his…father's that it gave the Lone Wolf gooseflesh. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"Mother says I'm to marry cousin Sansa when I come of age. She's your sister, so she listens to you, most like. Mother says cousin Sansa can give me special mommy milk too once we're married. I don't want to wait until I come of age. I…I want to try her special mommy milk NOW! I want her to feed me whenever I want and…and…and I want you to make her agree to do it. Cousin Sansa is really prettyful and my face gets all warm whenever I watch her do things." _GROSS! GROSS! GROSS! GROSS!_

"ARE YOU INSANE?"

"You better not call me crazy ever again, cousin Arya. I HATE when people call me crazy. It's mean and not nice at all. I'll let you think about it…also I want your dog."

"NO! Go away! I hate you!"

"I'm just going to get him anyway, cousin Arya. Mother says I can have whatever I want because I'm her special little Robin. My mother says I'm special, so I know it's true."

"I don't care what your stupid mother said, you can't have Lyanna!"

"Lyanna's a dumb name. From now on, I'm going to call him Falcon II. I hope he can fly better than Falcon did. Stupid three-legged dog. Sleeping on the floor like a lazy, bad dog. Sleeping on the floor all day is my job, not yours!"

"Lyanna's a girl, stupid."

"DON'T CALL ME STUPID!"

"Then stop acting like such a –"

"You'll be sorry…"

"LEAVE ME ALONE!"

"Fine. I won't make mother throw you through the moon door, but only because this was so much fun. You'd better not call me stupid ever again, cousin Arya. Or else…"

"Or else what?"

"Or else I'll tell mother that I saw cousin Sansa try to force father to do bad grown up things with her. I'm gonna go build a snow castle. You should come play with me, cousin Arya. It'll be fun! I can tell you all about what people say here when they think no one is listening and you can make more funny angry faces. They're so silly! I don't have any friends, cousin Arya. I keep making them fly for being mean or boring, but you'll be different. I can tell! You're going to be my best friend forever and ever and ever. Come on! Let's go play outside!"

"I don't want to be your –"

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYY!"

"Okay, okay, fine. I'll be your stupid best friend, just keep your voice down."

"Good, I was worried I'd have to make you fly just like all the other children who didn't want to be my friends. Can we go build a snow castle now?"

"Can't we –"

"I want to build a snow castle now. NOW! NOW! NOW!"

"Umm…yes, Robin. We…we can…umm…go build a snow castle…during the summer." _Wait a minute…what…what just happened?_


	44. Shireen II

**Shireen**

"Your Grace, I did not protest when you chose to travel to White Harbor and I even accepted your decision to bring the Red Woman with us. You are the Queen and the way I see it, I have no right to use my authority as Regent to stop you from ruling as you see fit; I can only offer you my best counsel as I did when for your father when he was King. However, I will not stand idly by while the Red Woman whispers in your ear and leads you to some sort of terrible death. We may need her now, but that doesn't change the fact that she'll poison your mind if given half a chance. I'll not see you burn too," declared Lord Davos. _Poison my mind? Is that…is that why you've been so scared lately? You actually think I'd let that evil old witch trick me? After everything she's done to my kin?_ The young Queen barely managed to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

In truth, Shireen wasn't near as angry at Lord Davos as she had been when he stopped her from executing the Red Woman, but he could still be annoying…even if a blind man could see that he meant well. The man was as loyal an advisor as anyone could ask for, but he never seemed to have time to do anything except hover over the young Queen like an over-protective mother…when he had time for her at all. Sometimes that wasn't so bad, especially since Shireen had never been given half so much attention by either of her parents, but he still treated her like she was a child instead of a woman grown.

 _I'm the Queen of Westeros now, you can't keep treating me like a little girl…not anymore. How will anyone in The North take me seriously if you keep doing this? The Northmen will try to do something scary to make an impression, most like. They're always doing things like that in all the histories. The Northmen will judge me by how we all respond. It'll be hard enough to keep the Red Woman from offending them; I can't have you over-reacting whenever any of the Northerners say something mean to me. I…I can't be the only grown-up here! You're my Regent. If you don't have time to be my friend anymore instead of just giving advice, at least don't create new problems. If I could get my stutter under control, then you can be calm while we're at White Harbor. Please don't embarrass me when I meet King Rickon…_

"Don't worry, Lord Davos. I won't let her talk me into doing anything I wasn't already going to do anyway. I can come up with my own ideas all by myself!"

"I'm sure you can, Your Grace."

"I'm sear-sear-serious!" _Stop treating me like a little kid!_

"As am I, Your Grace. I wasn't mockin' –"

"Mocking. There's a 'g' at the end."

"Mean…meanING no offense, Your Grace, but does it truly matt–"

"Of course it matters, Lord Davos. If it didn't matter, then there wouldn't be a right way to say the word. And practice makes perfect besides."

"Apologies, Your Grace. I wasn't mockin'-mock-mockING you. You probably know more than I do on account of all those booksy you're always reading. It's just…sometimes even the best of us don't always realize when they're beING lied to if the tales are clever enough."

"Good job! You didn't have any trouble saying 'reading.' See, Ser Onion Knight? I knew you'd get better at pronouncing words properly if you stuck with it."

"Thank you, Your Grace, but what I'm try-tryING to say is…you know how much I admired your father."

"My father would've been the greatest King Westeros ever had! And he was the most honorable man ever to sit on the Iron Throne besides."

"Aye, that he was, Your Grace. Your father was as just a man as I have ever known, but…"

"But what?"

"In truth, he was not a great King nor even a particularly good one. He could've been, but he was not."

"That's not…not…not true! Stop say-say-saying bad th-th-th-th-THINGS about my fah-father. You were supposed to be his friend!"

"Do you know why your father trusted me more than any of the highborn Lords who declared for him, Your Grace?" _I wouldn't trust anyone who changed faiths just because I didn't pray to the Red Woman's evil old fire God like my father did. A Lord who would do that doesn't believe in anything, most like._ _But that was after father died, so he couldn't have known they were like that. You didn't change faiths just because father did. I never prayed to that mean old Lord of Light when we were in King's Landing, at least. Now though… It…it's the only way to see the family I'll have…someday._ The young Queen frowned and shook her head.

"Your father trusted me because he understood a man – especially a King – must needs be willing to hear hard truths…the ones only his most loyal friends will tell him. I was never anything less than honest with your father. Not even when I feared it might cost me my life," sighed Lord Davos. Shireen titled her head in confusion.

"But…but that's a good thing, isn't it? Father listened to you even when he didn't want to because he knew you would always tell him the truth."

"Aye, he listened…for a time. Then one night, the Red Woman began whispering in his ear until he believed every word she said. He knew better, most like, but listened all the same because she showed him what he wanted…what he needed to see." _She showed father things in the flames too?_

"What do you mean, Ser Onion Knight? Why would my father trust her when he knew you were our family's best friend?"

"Stannis Baratheon was a great man, Your Grace, and had it not been for the Red Woman he'd have been a great King too…but he was only a man. He made mistakes just like we all do. That doesn't make him a bad man. It only means you must needs learn from his mistakes so that you don't repeat them."

"But what if I make mistakes too? Will…will I be a bad Queen?"

"Oh you'll make plenty of mistakes, Your Grace, and someday your children will learn from them just as you learned from those of your father. Even the mightiest among us stands upon his parents' shoulders."

"Or her parents' shoulders."

"Aye, or her parents' shoulders. As for whether or not you'll be a good Queen, no need to worry about that, Your Grace. For now, let's just worry about surviving this journey."

"But I have to worry about it right now, Ser Onion Knight. I'm the Queen and that means I have to do always do a good job, even when things are going badly for me or I have other problems too. It…it's my duty to my subjects. Why would anyone follow a King or Queen who isn't always trying to the best job they can?"

"The fact that you see ruling as a duty rather than a right already makes you a better ruler than most, Your Grace."

"It does?"

"Aye, it does."

"You don't have to worry about the Red Woman tricking me into buh-burning myself. I'll never forgive her for what she did to my family. Father, he…he was the greatest person ever to sit on the Iron Throne; he'd have to be in order not to just send me to die with the Stone Men. He could've saved Westeros, but the Red Woman destroyed him…and his death destroyed my mother."

"For all our sakes, you mustn't keep meeting with that…woman in private ever again. You know better than most what she's capable of, Your Grace." _This is different. The Red Woman's not tricking me, she's just…just helping me look into the flames. I saw how happy Rickon and I were… The other things that mean old Lord of Light showed me were really scary – whatever they were – but that was…it couldn't have been a trick. What I saw when I looked into the flames was real; it has to be!_

"Very well, Lord Davos. I was going to meet with the Red Woman later this evening, but you are welcome to come with me if you would like. Can we talk about something else now? Why can't we ever talk about happy or fun things like we did be-be-before fah-father buh-buh-buh-BURNED him-himself? Did you start the book I gave you about Queen Nymeria? It was a really good one and –"

"Beggin' your forgiveness, Your Grace, but –"

"Begging."

"BeggING. Your Grace, I'm afraid I simply haven't had time for such things of late." The young Queen's face sank like a stone beneath the weight of her disappointment and she slumped down in her seat. _We always used to…used to read books together ever since I taught you how to read. You would talk to me about my favorite ones. I don't have any other friends and you…you said we'd still have time to do that even though I was Queen. YOU LIED! You…you promised that you'd never be too busy for me and said that was how I'd know I always had at least one friend._

"But…but I –" _I gave him that book as a nameday present and he didn't even look at it. Did he hate it that much? I always liked it…_

"Your Grace, there are more important matters which require your attention at this time." _STOP BEING LORD DAVOS! I miss Ser Onion Knight! I…I just want…I want my friend back!_ Shireen's lower lip began to tremble as it became plain that her parents weren't the only ones dear to her whom she'd lost the night of her father's death. _I…I can't do this alone! No, I…I won't be alone forever. I just…I just have to get to White Harbor and then…then I won't be alone. I saw how happy Rickon and I were in the flames when we were older. The Red Woman isn't trying me, she…she just helps me see into the flames when I meet with her and I need…it is real! It has to be!_

"I have other books if…if you didn't like that one, there's another one about –"

"Time enough for that later, Your Grace. I wish I could spend my days reading books too. I'd be a good deal smarter if I could, but I'm afraid that then I wouldn't be a very good Regent. Someone has to make sure you stay safe and meet with dangerous men like The High Sparrow." _Stop treating me like some…like…like I'm just some scared little girl. Being Queen is really scary, but father would want me to be one anyway because it's my duty. And I can do things too besides! I can do a good job meeting with Lords and Sparrows. Well…I'd never meet with a Sparrow, but I could if I wanted to! I'm smart enough to make my own decisions._

 _I don't look like a Queen is supposed to…not like they do in the stories and songs. The ones in the pictures are always really pretty and I…I look like a monster. That's what everyone always said on Dragonstone. No one will ever follow me unless I do an extra good job proving that I deserve to be treated like a grown-up too. If my own advisors don't take me seriously, why should the Northerners? I can't just go to White Harbor and say that they should do what I say because I'm the one true Queen of Westeros. That's just…stupid! Why would anyone ever follow someone who did that?_

 _I read all about The Siege of Storm's End. Father's men followed him because he proved himself worthy of their loyalty. He must've known he had a duty to his men just like I have a duty to help my subjects, else they would've just made him surrender so they could eat. This stupid war wouldn't even be happening right now if father had become King instead of uncle Robert, most like. Robert, he…he was always mean to father for no reason. I don't know why he hated us so much. I thought most families all loved each other, but maybe that's not always true… Mother never loved me, but that's not normal…is it? I still loved her though… I'm going to be a good mother when I'm a grown-up! I'm going to be a mother someday; that…that means I must not die for many years and…and I…I want to see my child again!_

"I'm going to go meet with the Red Woman now, Lord Davos."

"Are you certain, Your –"

"Are you coming or not?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

…

The Red Woman frowned the moment that Lord Davos entered the room behind the young Queen. The Lady Melisandre was plainly trying to pretend that she was simply annoyed, but for a moment Shireen could've sworn that she saw something else on the woman's face buried beneath the layers of frustration and irritation: fear. _If it's bothering her this much then maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to bring Lord Davos after all…_

"He should not be here, Your Grace."

"BeggING your pardon, m'Lady, but –"

"It's 'my Lady,' Lord Davos. Not 'm'Lady,'" sighed Shireen.

"Apologies, Your Grace. What I'm tryin'…tryING to say is that it seems to me that this is exactly where I should be right now." The Red Woman glanced at the young Queen, plainly expecting her to order her Regent to leave. _You can't trick me! Even if you are helping me see good things in the flames, I…I still remember what you did to my father._

"I want Lord Davos to stay here. I told him to come with me this time."

"The Lord of Light may not show you the same things if there are others around when you look into the flames, Your Grace." The moment those words left the Red Woman's mouth, Lord Davos' face twisted with an anger unlike anything the young Queen had ever seen before. In truth, it frightened her so much that for a moment Shireen felt as though she wanted to dash under table and hide. _Lord Davos, he…he'd never hurt me… Never!_

"You will not ruin that child as you did her father; I'll die before I see that happen! There will be no more talk of showing that little girl visions in the flames. I know where such things lead… I don't care if your blood magic or…or your bloody Great Other are real. Either way, this –"

"I have not harmed Her Grace, Lord Davos. I have merely helped her see that which the Lord of Light would show her. The girl has been blessed with visions that even I have not yet been granted. She has seen The Great Other's champion and his cold children. She has seen things which happened in the past and which may yet happen in the future. Her Grace oft demands to see herself raising a child of summer and the Lord of Light lets her dream of spring to her heart's content. No one should have the power to decide which visions they are granted and yet the Lord of Light has oft let Her Grace do just that. Of course, she still has much and more to learn. Her Grace's control over the flames not yet absolute. The first vision she sees every night is still of The Great Other and his cold children…no matter how desperately she pleads with the Lord of Light to shield her from the truth."

"I won't warn you again, do you hear me? One way or another, whatever you are doING to that girl with those bloody flames of yours is goING to end to-toni-toniGHT." _Stop calling me that! I'm not a little girl; I'm a woman grown. This is…it's…it's embarrassing. At least…please, don't call me that at White Harbor._

"You forget yourself, my Lord. Her Grace has come here by her own free will night after night. I have not forced her to do anything. She is far stronger than you realize, Lord Davos…strong enough to do whatever must needs be done when the time comes. She will do whatever needs to be done…no matter how painful the cost…no matter how much she may hate herself for it." _Do what? I'm not going to let you trick me into burning someone! I…I don't care what the Lord of Light wants. No one is ever going to burn because of me. Never!_

"The Lord of Light has gifted her with a sight unlike that of any other," continued the Red Woman as the ruby on her neck began to glow brighter and brighter. "Do you know why, Lord Davos? Because Her Grace is Azor Ahai reborn. She is the Prince that was Promised and the Lord of Light has chosen –"

"How can I be a Prince? I'm a girl," blurted Shireen. Suddenly, the flames turned green and the young Queen found herself face-to-face with the Army of The Dead…or whatever it was that the Red Woman had called those rotting monsters. _No, not again! STOP! I…I don't want to see the dead people again! Why do I have to see this before I can see my family? It's not fair; this…it's just scary and…wait…this is…wrong. I am the Queen. I…I have a duty to protect my subjects just like father would if he were here. I have to watch. Can you at least make the horned one stop staring at me like that? Please?_ Shireen shivered as the temperature in the room slowly began to drop, although Lord Davos and the Red Woman were plainly to busy arguing to notice.

"I recall you sayING some-somethING similar about King Stannis."

"I misinterpreted the signs. I never thought…dragons have no gender. The Prince could just as easily be a Princess. Stannis Baratheon did not burn because Targaryen blood flowed through his veins; he has passed that blood down to Her Grace. Once the stone dragon beneath has been awakened from its slumber, it will permit Her Grace to use it as the greatest weapon in the arsenal of the living during the war to come. The dragon will be her Lightbringer." _They're finally gone! There, you…you showed me your scary monsters. Can I please see my family now? Do King Rickon I have a boy or a girl when we grow up? What do we name the child?_ A wide smile spread across Shireen's face as she saw herself teaching a little girl how to walk. Suddenly, Lord Davos grabbed the young Queen by the scruff of her neck and yanked her out of this wonderful vision.

"What? But…but I…NOOOOOOOOOO! COME BACK! Don't…don't go. Please, I…I wasn't done. Why did you…why can't I see them, Lord Davos? That's not fair! What did you do that for? It was real! I know it was and…please, come back," moaned Shireen as she buried her face in her tiny hands.

"I don't know who or what you think you saw, Your Grace. I only know that you were seeing it because it's what the Red Woman wanted you to see. Of course, all I saw were some ordinary flames."

"But I was teaching her how to walk."

"Who?"

"My daughter. She was a toddler and I –"

"Your Grace, has the Red Woman told you how she plans to wake this stone dragon of hers?"

"No. I don't think…why?"

"She means to burn your first child as a sacrifice to her Lord of Light, most like."

"WHAT? NO! But…but that…NO! YOU CAN'T! I won't let anyone burn…umm…burn…well…whatever my daughter's name is, I won't let the Red Woman hurt her!"

"Do you see the damage, you have done, Lord Davos? It is not Her Grace's daughter whom I mean to offer to the Lord of Light. The child would not have been born until well after The Wall has fallen and there are others with King's blood flowing through their veins besides. Nissa Nissa was not Azor Ahai's daughter…"

"What's a Nissa Nissa," asked Shireen, tilting her head in confusion. For once, the Red Woman did not answer her question. Instead, she slowly made her way out of her chambers. As she passed through the doorway, the Red Woman turned and looked Lord Davos directly in the eye.

"You've already made what must be done far harder for Her Grace than you will ever know. The seed of doubt had not taken root in her mind, but after your disruption… I am certain Her Grace will still do what she must when the time comes. She will see as her father did that one life is nothing against an entire world. Even so, you have added further weight to her burden. Nothing could be more cruel. Look to your sins, Lord Davos. The night is dark and full of terrors."


	45. Arya XIX

**Arya**

If there was one thing Arya had learned during her first week in The Eyrie, it was how to juggle. You had to know how to do that if you wanted to last more than a couple of days there. Just making it through a conversation with any of the Arryns was like keeping six balls in the air all at once…only you'd die if dropped even one of them. Whether it was convincing aunt Lysa that Sansa hadn't tried to steal her stupid husband or protecting Sansa from…their aunt's stupid husband without making the eldest Starkling even more afraid of him than she already was, there were never less than three or four issues for the Lone Wolf to balance at any given moment. That would've been hard enough, but nothing could compare to the drooling, booger-eating, milk-crazed madman who had somehow managed to enter the Lone Wolf's chambers undetected and sneak up behind her with bucket of freezing water.

"AAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHH!" _Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold._ The Lone Wolf's teeth began chattering uncontrollably; they didn't even stop after she bit her stupid lip so hard that she could taste the blood in her mouth.

"Hahahaha! You made a funny noise!" The Lone Wolf bit her lip – on purpose this time – to keep herself from calling Robin one of the words she'd learned at The Dreadfort and closed her eyes. _Deep breaths. That stupid…stupid…Robin's just trying to get me angry because he thinks my stupid face looks funny when I'm angry. I…I can't make him angry though…not really. Else he'll tell his stupid mother some horrible lie about Sansa. I can't lose her too! Never! If I do then I'll have no one left and…I have to keep pretending to be Robin's stupid friend, at least until Sansa figures out a way to escape from…HEY!_

"Robin."

"Yes, cousin Arya?"

"Why is your finger in my ear?"

"You said that you'd be my bestist friend. If you're really my bestist friend then you won't be angry that I spitted all over my finger before I –"

"EWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" _Gross. Gross. Gross. Gross._

"Hahahahahahahahaha! You made a funny face! Hahahahahahaha! NO! Bad cousin friend! If…if you try to clean your ear then I'll tell mother to make your sister fly. Hahaha! Your angry faces are so silly, cousin Arya; they make me laugh lots and lots. I'm glad we're bestist friends forever. I spat on my finger first instead of sticking it up my nose…because…because we're bestist cousin friends forever and ever. I want a pet cow."

"I don't have any stupid cows."

"No, that's a very bad cousin friend! If I want a pet cow then you have to give me a pet cow."

"Stop talking to me like that! I'm not your stupid pet!"

"You shouldn't raise your voice to me, cousin Arya. I don't like people who raise their voices at me. It means they're probably thinking me thoughts about me and if anyone does that then I make them fly." _Maybe when aunt Lysa dies, the Knights of The Vale will throw Robin through the stupid moon door…maybe._ "Don't worry though, I forgive you, cousin Arya. But if I ever got really mad at you, I'd steal something from old Maester Coleman without looking at what it was and put it in your food. If you died then you'd be punished for being bad and if you lived, then we'd be even. You'd still have to be my bestist friend though. Actually, I might put it in something you like drinking instead of your food. I did that to my father once because he called me 'stupid' to my face when I marked my property on his foot. I don't know what the label on the bottle of blue liquid was, but I poured it into his grown-up not-for-drinking milk once and it made him say really weird things about cousin Sansa. After that my father went to sleep on the floor for some reason. That was very bad of him, cousin Arya. I don't like when people who aren't me sleep on the floor of my castle…"

"Wait…you…you tried to poison Littlefinger because…he was angry at you for peeing on his foot? You were able to do that without him even realizing it? How did you –" _Maybe I can trick Robin into helping me kill Little…no, I can't let him help me. It's too dangerous and he'd want me to let him hurt Sansa besides._

"What? No, that doesn't make any sense, cousin Arya. I did it because he called me 'stupid.' I told you that bad things happen to people who are to mean me and…and…AND YOU BETTER NOT CALL ME STUPID! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! I am too smart! Yes, I am! Nobody had better try and say I'm dumb, else I'll punish them lots and lots! I…I'm smarter than anyone else in The Eyrie and nobody ever notices because they're all too stupid! Those stupid butt-faces all think they're better than me! Anyone who says I'm stupid will wish I made them fly! That's what the sky cells are for, cousin Arya. If someone says I'm stupid, I can make my mother lock them in a sky cell forever until they get so hungry that they see things that aren't real and make themselves fly. They…they'll see who the crazy one is then! I never made myself fly because that would be crazy and stupid. I'm the smartest Robin there ever was and everyone only thinks I'm dumb because I act that way on purpose. I'm…not…STUPID!"

"I…I don't…umm…think you're stupid." _Just a selfish monster who is out of his stupid mind…_ All of the anger vanished from Robin's face and Arya shuddered as her cousin seemed to instantly flip from a blood-thirsty tyrant to a shy, good-natured child. It wasn't just that every inch of Robin's face seemed to be able to change expressions on a whim, his whole body – his posture, movements, the shift from flailing to fidgeting…everything – underwent such a radical change that one could've been forgiven for thinking the Lord of The Eyrie had somehow morphed into a completely different person. And yet this wasn't what frightened the Lone Wolf…not really.

There was an artificiality to every movement her cousin made as he shyly kicked at the ground right down to the way he awkwardly fidgeted with his fingers. In truth, it made Arya feel watching a grumpkin wearing a person's skin and trying to pass itself off as a human. Everything was too perfect…like it was all some sort of carefully rehearsed performance in a play.

"You're just…you're just saying that to make me feel better," mumbled Robin, looking down at the ground nervously. "I…umm…I'm sorry I got water all over you and stuck my finger in your ear. That was very rude and inconsiderate of me. I should've thought more about how it would make you feel if I did that instead of just how much it'd make me laugh. You…you really don't think I'm stupid, cousin Arya? Honest and for truly?" _He's not sorry…not really. Robin just wants something from me and is trying to figure out the best way to get it, most like. He can't fool me! I won't let him! I can't let him know that I know what he's doing though…not until I figure out what it is that he even wants._

"I mean…umm…you said yourself that you were the smartest person in The Eyrie."

"You…you think I'm smart, cousin Arya? WOW! I…umm…thank you. I…I knew you'd be different! You appreciate me, not like all those other barf-brains who I had to make fly for being bad. I never had a friend who understood me before…not really. I'm really glad you and cousin Sansa came to The Eyrie. I know I act weird and do bad things sometimes, but that's only because my mother and father are bad poopyheads. I never had anyone good to look up to…not really. I'll make sure no one hurts you or your sister ever again, honest and for truly…even if the bad people are my own blood. Would you…umm…I mean…I always wanted a big sister friend who could help show me how to be good. You seem really nice and you aren't always talking about boring girl things either. Can…can I…umm…pretend you're like my sister, cousin Arya? Would you be willing to help me learn how to be more gooder? I don't want to be bad…not really. I…I know I can change and I want to, I really do! I promise! Will you help me," asked Robin, with a nervous smile as a single tear fell from his left eye.

 _None of this is real…not really. Everything Robin does, it's all an act, most like. I bet he's just copying how he thinks normal people behave when they have whatever they feel the way he wants someone to think he does. Maybe Robin doesn't even have any real emotions…maybe. No, that's stupid. Everyone has feelings…don't they? Wait a minute…did Robin say 'not really' just because I always say that? Why would he try to copy the way I talk?_ Arya bit her lip, but it was no use. In truth, the Lone Wolf had never been able to keep her thoughts to herself.

"Robin, I know you're just trying to trick me and you'd better stop copying the way that I –"

"What? But…but I…I thought I did good job that time, cousin Arya. How did you know?" _Seven Hells! Wait a minute…was he just practicing this whole time?_

"Umm…I mean…I –"

"Should I not have cried? Is that not what people do when they want someone to feel sorry for them? I saw Sansa cry when she wanted Lothar Brune to feel sorry for her, but maybe only girls can trick people by crying. I knew tears were bad! Sorry about that, cousin Arya; I'll get it right next time! Stupid tear, ruining our game like a selfish, mean old poopy-headed tear. If it was a person then I'd have made it fly for being such a jerk."

"That's…okay, Robin."

"No, it's not! That tear was a…a…a big fart-face. Was it the crying that made you know I was just fooling? Are only girls supposed to use tears, cousin Arya," asked Robin with wide-eyed curiousity as a thin stream of drool ran all the way down to his stupid chin. "I know you can't trick people that way because you're so ugly that no one would ever feel sorry for you, but my mother says I'm the handsomest boy in all of Westeros. I don't have a gross horse-face like you do, so I really need to know this, cousin HAHAHAHAHAHA…that's a really funny angry face. You're cheeks are redder than cousin Sansa's hair and…wait…no, now you just look annoyed. I want to see that angry face again; it was so silly. Do it again! AGAIN! AGAIN! AGAIN!" It took every ounce of the Lone Wolf's self-restraint to avoid slapping the screeching creep's stupid face as hard as she could.

"What did you even want anyway?"

"What? Oh, I wanted to make you feel sorry for me and maybe think I was prettyful so that you'd help me get cousin Sansa's special mommy –" _GROSS!_

"If you go anywhere near Sansa, I'll –"

"My father sometimes tells me I can't have what I want. Did you know that after I put the stuff that I stole from old Maester Coleman in Littlefinger's grown-up not-for-drinking milk, it didn't just make my father say weird things about cousin Sansa? It also made him act bad around her and she's hated him ever since that happened. He really wants to do bad grown-up things to her, so I ended up punishing him even more gooder than I thought I did. I sure hope I never have to punish you like that, cousin Arya. I'd be really sad if anything bad ever happened to my bestist cousin pretend big-sister friend in the whole wide world. Good thing you weren't about to tell me 'no' because if you did, I might get awful mad awfully fast…" Although Arya was angrier at her cousin than she could ever hope to put into words, all of that impotent rage suddenly gave way to a new emotion: fear. The Lone Wolf hated when Robin made her feel that way…it made her feel like some frightened little girl and not a wolf at all.

"Just…just stay away from –"

"Don't worry, cousin Arya; they don't know I saw them that night. I think my father was trying to steal cousin Sansa's special mommy milk all for himself, but he tried use his hand instead of his mouth for some reason. I think he might've grabbed one of her food sacks once, but I'm not sure."

"HE WHAT?" _If that monster touched Sansa even once, I…I'll kill him! Why didn't Sansa tell me? Is…is that why Sansa's so scared of Littlefinger? Was she afraid he'd try to rape her? I'm not just going to kill him…not really. Littlefinger, he…he deserves to die the way Lord Vargo did. I'm going to use Vengeance,_ Arya decided. _No, that…that's what Lord Bolton would do. I'm Stark, not some stupid Bolton._ I'm going to kill him for whatever he did to Sansa though…

"Shhhhh. It's a secret, cousin Arya. If you tell anyone then I'll have to beat myself up and tell mother that you did it. I can make people do whatever I want and…and…and anyone I don't like, I can make fly forever and ever. Pretty cool, huh? I said 'PRETTY COOL, HUH?'"

"What is?"

"Say I did good or I'll tell mother to make cousin Sansa fly."

"Umm, yes…you did good, Robin," sighed Arya looking down at the ground in shame. It hurt to let that giggling monster win every single time, but it was also the only way to protect Sansa from him. That made it more than worthwhile though, at least as far as the Lone Wolf was concerned…no matter how much it hurt her pride.

"Whatever I want," sighed Robin, beaming with pride. "I'm gonna have mother make a whole bunch of kittens fly today. I HATE cats. Those stupid mangy tomcats are always hissing at me and killing my little mouse friends. Cats don't like me and…and…and I can make anyone who doesn't like me fly. It's a good thing you like me and think I'm smart, cousin Arya. I HATE anybody who doesn't like me! Those cats think I don't hear them thinking bad thoughts about me, but I do. The hissing noises sometimes get so loud that I can't even hear the voices in my thinking brain when they're trying to tell me what to do."

"The…umm…voices?"

"Old Maester Coleman says I shake because I get sick, but it's really because of I get sick of listening to them argue. It makes my head hurt lots and lots." Arya bit her lip.

"The…umm…voices, they…they haven't said anything bad about me or my sister…have they?"

"What? No…well…they did at first. When you came here they said that I should make you fly for not being prettyful to look at like cousin Sansa, but then they decided that you're good. Actually, I think they like you an awful lot now that you're my bestist cousin friend. You really are like a big-sister friend because I can tell you anything I want instead of playing pretend like I do around everyone else. Alyn just told me that you're a much better friend than that mean girl who wouldn't let me pull out any of her hair. I made her fly for being so selfish. NO! Cousin Arya is our friend! We don't take special mommy milk from our friends, Rhaegar. And hers is probably all thick and icky besides."

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just…some of the voices say to do bad things to people sometimes, but I don't listen…usually. Once they even said to kill mother in her sleep, but if I did that then there would be no one left to help me make people fly. WELL…I'm hungry! Do you want lunch? I want lunch! I also want a nameday cake every day and…and…what's wrong, cousin Arya? Do you want a nameday cake for lunch too? Why do you look so scared? Do you want me to stop playing pretend? I didn't mean to frighten you…not really. I was just fooling about the voices, honest and for truly. It was all just a big, silly game."

"Wait…what? You…you mean…you don't hear voices?"

"I told you I'm not crazy, cousin Arya. I don't actually hear voices, silly. I was just…making a funny is all." _Stop trying to copy the way I talk, you little creep!_ "See, I told you I'd fool you next time we played pretend. Hahahahaha! Look at your face; it's all confuzzled."

"And you're not going to have your mother throw a bunch of kittens through the moon door," asked Arya, breathing a small sigh of relief.

"Don't be a goofy woofy, of course I'm going to make them fly! Cats are always hissing like mean old grumpy cats who don't like me. I HATE anyone who doesn't like me, so…so I make bad things happen to anyone who doesn't like me… Don't worry though, if you haven't hit me by now like mother does then you must really like me lots and lots. I won't make you fly unless I get bored."

"Aunt Lysa hits you?"

"Only when I say what I think, like the time I said she was wrong about your sister. That's one of the reasons I play pretend with most people."

"I thought you said you…umm…'play pretend' so that no one tries to make you do anything."

"That too, but I also do it so mother won't hit me."

"Your mother does not hit you! Robin, you need to stop lying about –"

"NO! I can lie about whoever I want! Mother says The Eyrie is impregnable! Well, so am I! I'm IMPREGNABLE and…and…and I'm the smartest Robin in all of Westeros, cousin Arya. My mother said so herself, so you better not be mean to me ever again! I HATE anybody that's mean to me. Stupid bossy, horse-faced jerk, always bossing me around like a mean old butt-face. If you try to tell me what to do ever again then I…I'll tell mother that cousin Sansa tried to do bad grown up things to –" *SLAP* Robin's lower lip trembled as his left hand slowly made its way to the large, hand-shaped red mark on his cheek. This time, the tears pouring down both of the Lord of The Eyrie's cheeks were plainly real.

"Wait…Robin, I…I didn't mean to –"

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM –" The Lone Wolf grabbed her cousin by the shoulders, slammed him against the wall, and began shaking him in a desperate attempt to make the stupid brat stop screaming before aunt Lysa heard him.

"Robin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear! Please, you…you said we were friends and…I just…please don't tell aunt Lysa! She'll throw me through the moon door and –"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please, don't hurt me! NO MORE! I…I surrender! Not again! PLEASE! I don't like this game! It…it hurts! You're too strong; I'm scared," sobbed Robin. _Wait…what?_

"It's okay, I promise not to do that ever again just…just stop crying."

"Please, cousin Arya, I don't wanna die! I'm scared! You're not supposed to be able to hurt…to hurt me! Mother lied! I DON'T WANNA DIE! IT HURTS! I HAVE AN OWWWY ON MY FACE! NO MORE! PLEASE, NO MORE! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" The Lone Wolf examined her left hand in confusion as she tried to figure out how painful a single slap could possibly be…not that it did any good.

"What did you do to my son," asked an eerily calm voice. Arya tried to turn around, but it was no use; her stupid legs wouldn't move. The only other person who'd ever been able to leave the Lone Wolf frozen with fear were Qyburn, but not even he had ever given her gooseflesh the way aunt Lysa did…and that was before the madwoman began digging her long fingernails into her youngest niece's lower neck. _Not today! Not today! Not today! Not today!_

"OWWWWWWWW! I…I…umm…"

"You…you…umm…what?"

"OWWW! STOP DOING…I mean…nothing, aunt Lysa. I just –"

"My poor, sweet little Robin. He's so very sensitive, yes? It's okay, Robin, come here and let mother see what YOUR FACE! My perfect little boy's face is ruined! It's hideous; he looks nothing like my Petyr with that ugly red handprint on his cheek. No, it…it's only for a little. That mark will go away! Maester Coleman will see to him and…YOU!"

"OWWWWWWWWW!" _Did Robin just stick his tongue out at me?_

"DID YOU HIT MY SON? YOU DID, DIDN'T YOU? Don't bother denying it; it's all too plain what you are, you little beast. I should've known a fish-faced freak like you would turn green with envy the moment she laid eyes on my handsome little boy. I welcomed you into my home out of the kindness of my heart and have cared for you as though you were my own daughter from the moment that dastardly scoundrel brought you to The Eyrie. Is this how you would repay my generosity? By trying to ruin the greatest gift that a son can give his mother?"

"NO! I wasn't trying to ruin anything, aunt Lysa; I swear! Please, I…I don't even know what you're talking about and –"

"He looked just enough like his father that I could pretend it was my Petyr suckling at my breast, but now… Those days are gone until that wretched hand-print disappears from my little boy's face. That was your plan, yes? I see right through you, you little monster!"

"No, I'd never…wait…what?" _Aunt Lysa tries to imagine that her son is Littlefinger whenever she…GROSS! What is wrong with you people?_

"So you admit it!"

"No, I…OWWWWWWW! I'd never hurt Robin," Arya lied.

"Is that so? Well, we'll just see about that! Since it's my son whom you attacked, we shall let him decide your fate, yes? If my Robin says a single bad word about you then I'll have you thrown through the moon door. Do you hear me, you hateful harpy? Robin, tell mother what the filthy, wicked little girl did to you." _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"Cousin Arya saved my life, mother!"

"What," blurted the Lone Wolf.

"Robin, you can tell your mother the truth. Just one word and –"

"Well…cousin Arya didn't save my life, but she did protect me from the scary man. She's really good, mother! Ser Lyn Corbrey was being a bad, mean knight because I heard him saying evil things about how he could marry you if something happened to uncle Petyr. Ser Lyn saw me though and…and…and he…he…he hit me really hard for crying too loud and…and cousin Arya made him leave me alone. She's been a really good friend to me and…and I feel safer with her around. Not like all the naughty children who you had to make fly for being bad to me." _Why is Robin helping me?_

"That half-wit? She saved you? Are you sure? I don't see how your cousin could've made a knight stop –"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! DON'T LET HIM KILL ME! Please, mother I love you! Don't make me think about…about how he…WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Wait…don't…don't cry, Robin. Your mother is going to punish that evil man and make sure he never hurts anyone ever again. You're safe now, Robin. Shhhhh. Mother will take you to your room."

"But…but I…I want to play with cousin Arya and I want to play now! NOW! NOW! NOW!"

"Hush and shush, sweet Robin. My special little boy has had far too much excitement for one day."

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"No, wait…I…umm…please stop crying. You can play with your cousin all day; you…you can do whatever you want."

"Really? What *sniff* whatever I want," asked Robin. The Lord of The Eyrie soon began sucking his thumb and wiped away his tears with his left sleeve.

"Of course, you can, Robin. You'll stop crying now, yes? See, mother made it all better! Now just tell me what happened. How exactly did your cousin make Ser Lyn leave you alone? I still don't under –"

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! NO MORE! Mother, please…I…I…don't wanna talk about…about…PLEASE NOT AGAIN! NO! NO! NO! NO! WAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"It's okay, I…I'll leave you with your cousin and we…we…umm…never have to talk about this again."

"We *sniff* we don't?"

"No, not unless you want to, we…we'll only talk about what you want."

"I *sniff* I love you, mother."

"I love you too, Robin. I SEE YOU SNEAKING AWAY! Get back here!" _Rats, I almost got away!_

"Yes, aunt Lysa?"

"Mayhaps I was wrong about you, yes? I'll be watching you carefully, but mayhaps you're simply not bright enough to capture your sister's more subtle attempts to steal my Petyr. Very well. In time, I'm sure you'll come to me with a more obvious transgression. It will be easier to throw that whore through the moon door if she does something so blatant that it alarms even a foolish simpleton like you. I can wait, yes? You saved my Robin, so mayhaps I can trust you for a few days."

"I…umm…thank you…I think."

"Wait…I haven't seen my Petyr all day. That hateful bitch could be sinking her claws into him this very minute, yes! Mother will be right back, Robin," shouted the Lady of The Vale as she raced out of the room.

…

"Why didn't you tell your mother that I slapped you? I know you were angry at me, so why didn't you make her throw me through the moon door?" Arya bit her lip.

"You're so silly, cousin Arya. I can't kill you because I need your help getting cousin Sansa's special mommy milk."

"For the last time, I'm not going to let you hurt –"

"You'll come around. I probably just…need to give your thinking brain some space is all." _Stop copying me! I don't like it!_

"You don't hear the word 'no' very often, do you?"

"I hear it all the time, it's just…the people who say it to me usually don't say anything to anyone ever again is all. Oh and one more thing, cousin Arya. Killing people for revenge when you're really angry is silly because they're not even alive to be sad about what happens to them. Good revenge should make the other person feel really bad and you can't be sad if you're dead. It sure is lucky that I'm not angry at you right now, cousin Arya. Otherwise, I might…wait…ruining surprises is bad. Bad! Bad! Bad," shouted Robin as he calmly made his way out of the Lone Wolf's chambers. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._


	46. Shireen III

**Shireen**

Shireen didn't like White Harbor one bit…and not just because of how big it was either. Large castles weren't usually a bad thing, but The New Castle wasn't like the Red Keep. Everyone was always in a rush and most of the Northmen stared at Shireen in the same hateful way that most people did everywhere else. It was like they all knew about the greyscale despite the hood she was wearing over her head. People had been looking at the young Queen with the same sort of fearful contempt and suspicion her whole life, but somehow it always seemed to hurt even more every time. Worst of all, everything was much too cold in The North. By the time, the young Queen and her Regent arrived at the Merman's Court, it took all of her self-control to just make her teeth stop chattering.

"Lord Davos, why is everything so cold here? It wasn't snowing in King's Landing, so why was there hail all around White Harbor?" _It can't be because of the the dead monsters, they're all on the other side of The Wall…aren't they?_

"The North has always been colder than the lands south of The Neck, Your Grace. In truth, this is one of the warmer parts of The North, most like." _I hope King Rickon doesn't want to stay here when we're grown ups. The wind stings and no amount of clothing could keep the cold out, most like. At least I'll finally get to meet him soon! After that, I'll know whether the things that mean old Lord of Light showed me when I looked into the flames were actually real. I wish there was some way that just the part about having a family could be real. Those monsters were really scary, especially the one with a crown of horns coming out of his head. He keeps acting like he can see me…_ The room's temperature seemed to drop for a moment only to rise again once the young Queen stopped thinking about that army of dead…things; it was as though the winds of winter could hear her thoughts. Shireen shuddered.

"Do you think King Rickon will –"

"Your Grace, might I suggest call-callING him 'Lord Rickon' or 'Lord Stark?'"

"You don't have to say words like that when we're meeting with people, Lord Davos."

"Thank you, Your Grace." _You shouldn't be thanking me for giving you permission to say something the wrong way. That just means you'll need even more practice to get it right._

"I don't understand why you don't want me to call him 'King Rickon' though; he's a King, isn't he?"

"That's for you to decide, Your Grace. He's still one of your subjects unless you grant The North independence, which I'd advise against, seein' how it's half of your kingdom –"

"Queendom. I'm a Queen, not a King, so it should be called a Queendom."

"Very well, Your Grace," sighed Lord Davos. "My point is that if you start callin' Lord Stark a king, it'll sound as though you're recognizin' him as your equal. You are the one true Queen of Westeros and if you act as though one pretender is of the same stature then before long every Lord in the Seven King…err…Queendoms will demand the same treatment."

"I'm confused. Why shouldn't I treat the Northmen as though they are already a separate kingdom?"

"It would undermine your own authority throughout your…Queendom, Your Grace."

"But The North isn't part of my Queendom, Lord Davos. I can say that it is, but no one there would care what some woman from King's Landing who had never even been anywhere near The Neck before commanded them to do, most like. I don't have any power here and we need allies. I've read all of the histories and no King or Queen on the Iron Throne has ever let The North be independent without some sort of war. If I act like I'm better than them than the Northmen then they'll think I'm just like every other Lord who ever gave them an order they didn't like. The only way the Northmen will agree to help me is if I ask King Rickon for The North's help and treat him like my equal. That's how the Northmen will know they can trust me: I'll do something for them that no one else has ever done before and I won't make them wait until after the war is over either."

"You always were wise beyond your years, Your Grace, but I fear you don't fully understand the implications this could have for the other six kingdoms."

"Queendoms."

"Very well. My point is –"

"I can't just march into that room and demand that the Northmen help me because I'm the one true Queen. No one would ever listen to someone who did something like that or at least…I never would. They'd probably just insult us if I did that. It'll be hard enough to convince them that I deserve to be treated like a grown-up."

"Your Grace, if you would only consider –"

"I've made my decision, Lord Davos. Whatever happens in there, I may not be able to do this alone. Even if you disagree with me, will…will you still help me?"

"Always, Your Grace."

"Thank you, I –" Before Shireen could finish speaking, the doors to the Merman's Court swung open and one of Lord Manderly's men emerged from the room.

"His Grace is prepared to grant you an audience, M'Lords…err…Ladies…whatever you people are supposed to be. Bloody Sothrons," muttered the grumpy-looking soldier.

…

"Who are you," asked the King in The North. In truth. Rickon Stark was nothing like what Shireen had expected. He looked really angry, but his voice made it plain that he was trying his best not to cry. That would have been strange enough, but the 11 year-old boy kept squirming about in his seat as though he were already on the verge of going mad with boredom…either that or he really needed to use the privy.

"My name is Shireen of…of House Baratheon," replied the last Baratheon, doing her best curtsey. "Lady of the Seven Queendoms, Queen of the –"

"What's a 'Queendom,'" blurted Rickon.

"It's a kingdom that's ruled by a Queen."

"That's not even a real word. You can't just make up words; only I'm allowed to do that!"

"I'm the one true Queen of Westeros. That means –"

"You? You're the Queen on the Iron Throne? But you're just a little girl; that doesn't make any sense."

"I'll be a woman grown in less than a year and I'm probably older than you be–"

"What Her Grace meant to say is that she greatly appreciates that you've granted us an audience, m'Lord."

"And who might you be? Some low-born scoundrel, most like," grunted a really fat Lord sitting at a table not far from King Rickon's marble throne.

"Lord Davos of House Seaworth, Master of Ships." _At least Lord Davos didn't tell them he's my Regent or that he used to be a smuggler. No one would take me seriously here if he'd done that…_

"Let Lady Shireen speak for herself," replied King Rickon, plainly speaking as much to the fat Lord as to the Onion Knight. In truth, the fat Lord looked as though he was about to spit out his lamprey pie in shock. "I'm sorry about Lord Manderly, he can be really bossy sometimes. I hate when he tells me I have to go to bed early. A King should be able to choose his own bedtime! I bet the Lords in King's Landing are always trying to boss you around and don't take you seriously either just because you're not as old as them. You're just as sick of it as I am, most like. Don't worry! I'll make sure no one is mean to you here just because of your age."

"Thank you, Your Grace, but Lord Davos is my friend and –"

"NUH UH! He's just another grown-up and that…that means he could be dangerous. Wait…I forgot, you don't at the bad place; that's probably why you don't know what grown-ups are like in The North. You have to be really careful here because otherwise bad things happen to people you care about and…and…I wasn't able to save them. I failed and now everyone else is gone because I…I mean…what did you want to talk to me about?" _The bad place? What…I mean…where's that? Is he…no, there's nothing wrong with Rickon. He's lost people he loves too; he's just really lonely, most like. Maybe even lonelier than I was at Dragonstone… I bet no one at White Harbor understands how sad he is; they probably just think he's being mean. Poor thing…_

"I…I'm really sorry for whatever happened at the…umm…bad place. I can't imagine what it was like for you there, but whatever happened, I'm sure it wasn't your fault."

"You…you can't know; I should've been the one who died there," whimpered Rickon.

"Your family would've wanted you to survive, most like. I'm sure your parents would be very proud of you if they knew you'd made it this far. My parents are dead and I was…wasn't able to s-s-save them, but I…I…I…and they…they never…they didn't –"

"Seven Hells, the bloody child can't even speak properly."

"SHUT UP," screamed King Rickon as tears began slowly dribbling down his cheeks. "I told you to let her talk, Lord…Lord Manderly. If you interrupt her again, I'll…I'll…I'll…ARRRGGGGGGHHHH! I'm sick of these stupid grown-ups who don't know what it's like not to have anyone! I HATE…I hate…I mean…I'm sorry, what did you want to talk about, Lady Baratheon or whatever it was that Lord Glover said I'm supposed to call you."

"I just…umm…I'm not here to ask you or anyone else to bend the knee. As the one true Queen of Westeros, I have decided to recognize The North as an independent kingdom under the rule of House Stark regardless of whether or not any Northern Houses help me. I've read all the histories and…umm…I don't think The North wants to be ruled by the Iron Throne. Robb Stark was the last King of The North, so you should replace him, although I don't know who the rightful Lord of Winterfell would be if –"

"It'd have to be one of my sisters, but I don't know if Sansa or Arya are still alive. I think Arya might be though. I don't want Winterfell anymore; they can have it! It's hard enough being some stupid King; I better not have to be a Lord too! I'm King of The North and…and I say that you can't be a king and a Lord at the same time. My brother Bran, he…he can't be a Lord because he's not himself anymore. Not after what happened at the bad place…"

"Where's the bad place? Wait…I…I'm sorry! Please stop shaking, I just…I promise not to ask that again, you don't have to tell me." _What happened to you?_

"I…I'm sorry, I just…no one is ever allowed to say what that place is called. It…it's a really bad, evil place!"

"I…umm…I believe you."

"HEY! Stop looking at me like I'm embarassing you, Lord Manderly! You don't…I'm the King of The North! I don't have to explain this if I don't want to!"

"What were you saying," Shireen asked nervously, hoping to change the subject more than anything else.

"Oh. Nothing really, just that I'm keeping Theon Turncloak in a cell because he only saved me. Someone told him it was more important to save me from the bad place than it was to rescue Bran and Arya," growled King Rickon, shooting Lord Manderly a death glare. "Why are you letting The North be its own kingdom?"

"I…I don't have a strong enough army to make anyone here bend the knee, Your Grace. Even if I did, I can't just show up and demand that you and the other Northern Lords do whatever I say just because I'm the one true Queen of Westeros. It's bad enough when grown-ups do that sort of thing to me just because they're older than me. I…I'm here to ask for your help, not because it's my right, but because I need it. The Lannisters and Tyrells are trying to put Tommen Waters on the Iron Throne and if The North was willing to send men to help me fight them then that…that could decide the whole war. I want to earn your loyalty by proving myself worthy…worthy of it. I haven't had a chance to do that yet, but I'm still asking for your help…not because you need me, but because I need you. And I want honorable allies besides. My father once said that your father was –"

"Why are you wearing a hood," blurted the young King.

"Why am I…wait…what?"

"That hood. It's covering your face; lower it. Is something wrong with your face? I want to see!"

"I…I…I don't want –"

"I won't send any soldiers to help if you don't lower your stupid hood."

"Please, don't make me –"

"Do you want my help or not?" Shireen did as she was bid and this time, Lord Manderly spewed lamprey pie all over the floor. Both of King Rickon's eyes grew near as wide as a harvest moon looking down over a grassy field…and yet he wasn't looking at the young Queen the way most people did. Shireen was grateful for that, if little else.

"The wretched child has greyscale," gasped Lord Manderly.

"It has been cured, m'Lord."

"You call that cured? Are you mad? That thing should be sent to live with the stone YOUR GRACE, GET BACK HERE! STAY AWAY FROM HER!" King Rickon plainly had no intention of listening to the fat Lord and raced over to the young Queen with such speed that Shireen almost fell over in surprise.

"I want to talk to Lady Shireen alone, my…umm…my Lords or…I mean…I want to show her around White Harbor. Is that okay?"

"But Your Grace –"

"I was asking her, not you."

"You have my word that the greyscale is not contagious, my Lord," added Lord Davos. In truth, it didn't matter what any of the Lords said. Shireen and Rickon had already made their escape by the time Lord Manderly opened his mouth to reply. The King in The North was very strange, but by now, Shireen would've done just about anything to get out of the Merman's Court.

…

"This looks like an ordinary room. Why did you want to talk in here," asked Shireen, tilting her head in confusion.

"How did you do that to your face? Can my face be like that too? Please, you have to tell me how you did that so my whole face can have grey scales on it! If…if you do then I promise I'll have The North help you. It's really important! PLEASE," begged Rickon.

"Wait…what?"

"Your face is really scary or…no wait…I mean…it's not scary. What I meant to say that it's really…umm…its…well…I like the grey part a lot. No wait…that was wrong too. I…I didn't mean to say I liked it…not that I don't like it, I didn't mean that either. Seven Hells, did I just said that aloud?"

"Say what?"

"Umm…nothing. I didn't say anything!"

"Are you feeling okay?" _This…definitely wasn't how he acted when I looked into the flames. Rickon was much older then, so maybe…maybe he's just sick and will be back to normal in a week or two._

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You don't sound fine. You keep mixing up your words."

"So?"

"So you have to focus! Just remember to use syllables and sentences."

"What's a syllable?"

"Nevermind," sighed Shireen. "I'm just a little worried about you right now. You promise that you aren't feeling sick?"

"Yes, yes, I promise. Seven Hells, you sound like my mother."

"I do? I'm confused. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"It's…just stop asking if I'm okay. Listen, what I was…umm…trying to say earlier was that I…I meant was that if my face looked like the grey part of yours then all the bad Northern Lords would be too afraid to ever even think about trying to hurt anyone in my family. Whoever hurt your parents must be so scared of getting captured even though you seem really nice. I wouldn't have to pretend to be mean anymore if my face looked like that. You're so lucky! Did you see how scared Lord Manderly was? No wonder you're so nice, I bet no Lord would ever cross you."

"Are you scared of me?"

"I've been to the bad place; your face doesn't scare me at all. Not after what the Boltons did," replied Rickon, carefully taking off his left glove.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FINGERS?"

"There were bad people who cut off two of them at the bad place. It's harder to scare someone after something like that."

"You poor thing! I…I'm so sorry that happened to you! I promise that I will do everything in my power to make sure that the people who did that to you are brought to justice. Is there anything I can do to help?" Rickon's entire expression changed and the young King suddenly looked as though he were about to drop dead right where he stood out of sheer embarrassment. _What did I say?_

"'Poor thing?' But…but I'm not a…I mean…I…I wasn't…umm…the Boltons couldn't scare me into doing whatever they wanted. They did that to my brother Bran, but Arya and me never stopped fighting them. Arya was one of my sisters; the Boltons captured her too. I actually bit the person who took away my fingers once. I did things like that so the Boltons would hurt me instead of my family. I'm not scared of anything, not even the people at the bad place!." _Wait a minute…is…is he trying to impress me? But that doesn't make any sense; why would he be trying to show me how brave he is? At least he doesn't hate me…_

"Aren't you afraid that my face means I'm cursed or –"

"No, that's stupid! Not you, you're not stupid at all; I meant the people who think your face is cursed are stupid walnut-heads. Everyone knows the old Gods don't curse people and I really like your face besides. No wait…stupid mouth, stop saying…things aloud! What I meant was that your face would probably scare away anyone who tried to hurt my family."

"I thought you said you thought people would be too scared to hurt my family."

"Right, that's what I said."

"No, you just said no one would I made you feel like no one would try to hurt your family. That would only make sense if we were both part of the same House."

"Wait…I said that?" Shireen nodded. For a moment, the King in The North looked as though he wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and hide. _Why are his cheeks all red? Is he okay?_

"OH YEAH? WELL…WELL…umm…you have girl germs!"

"I do? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…wait…what are girl germs?"

"Nothing, I…I just misspoke, my Lady or Your Grace or…sorry, I don't remember which one I'm supposed to say. Actually, can we just use our names when there are no stupid grown-ups around? I hate when people call me 'Your Grace' or I have to call them 'my Lord' and 'my Lady.' If someone is really your friend then you shouldn't have to call them some annoying title. You should be able to just talk to them like a normal person. Can we be friends? The grey part of your face is really cool and you're the only person I've met since I was rescued from the bad place who hasn't tried to tell me what to do. You just asked for my help and were really nice to me. I mean…we…umm…we don't have to be friends if you don't want to, I just thought…" The young King looked down at his feet and began kicking at the ground.

"Of course we can be friends, Rickon. Thank you."

"You're welcome! Wait…what did I do?"

"I don't have any friends except Lord Davos and he's a grown-up, so it's different than having friends my age." _What if Rickon is acting so nervous because he needs me too and isn't used to feeling that way about other people?_ _He'll probably be a lot more mature a bit when he's older, but maybe he just needs a friend right now who knows how it feels to lose people you love when you're so young. Some of Lord Davos' children died in the Battle of The Blackwater, but he still doesn't understand what it's been like for me and I'm already 12 and a half years old. Rickon's looks like he's ten or eleven and it's much harder when you lose your family at such a young age. Lord Manderly might be loyal to House Stark, but he doesn't seem like he'd be a good person to talk to about that sort of thing. He must be so lonely in this big, freezing castle…_

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Your…I mean…Rickon. I've been sure of that my whole life," sighed Shireen.

"But you're really nice and the right half of your face looks like part of a really scary dragon." The young Queen tilted her head in confusion as she tried to figure out whether or not the second part was an insult or a complement.

"Thank you…I think, but most people won't even go anywhere near me because –"

"Well they're just stupid walnut-heads and…and…who even cares what other people think? They're probably just jealous or –"

"That's very nice of you, Rickon, but I don't think anyone is jealous of me."

"Well, I'm really happy we're friends and I don't care what anyone else says."

"Me too. I'm really glad I got to meet you," replied Shireen with a shy smile. For some reason, that made the King in The North start looking at the floor again. _Maybe the flames were right after all… I'm going to be a mother someday! But wait…that means those monsters were real too… Was the Red Woman right? It doesn't matter, I won't let her burn anyone…not even if there really are a bunch of scary dead people on the other side of The Wall._

"You don't look very happy. Wait…I know what you're worried about," exclaimed Rickon.

"You do?"

"Don't worry, I'll make sure The North helps you! They have to send soldiers because I want them to and…and I'm the King of the whole North. Father used to say it was the bigger than all the other kingdoms in Westeros combined. I can't send anyone to help you right now, but as soon as I've beaten all the traitors in The North, I promise to send as many soldiers as I can to help you defeat those evil walnut-headed Southron Lords. You still look sad; didn't you hear me? I said The North will help you. I'm sorry, I thought that would cheer you up. I wish Hodor was here right now. He'd know what to do…or at least I could talk to him about anything. He's really good at keeping secrets!"

"Who is Hod…I mean…thank you, Rickon. I promise that House Baratheon will never forget that The North was there for us when we needed it's help. Umm…can I ask you something?"

"I guess," replied the young King, shrugging his shoulders.

"Why are you being so nice to me? Most people won't even talk to me and the ones that do usually don't really want to be my friends…they usually just want something. I know we've both lost people we care about, but is that the only reason you like me?"

"I DO NOT! I mean…I do like you, but I don't like like you."

"Aren't those the same thing," asked Shireen, tilting her head in confusion.

"Riiiiight, they're the same thing. I still can't believe most of the people you know are mean to you."

"Why?"

"You must be really smart since you use even more grown-up words than anyone I've ever met and seem like a very nice person who probably doesn't try to boss people around just because you're a Queen. And I bet no one who saw your face would ever try to hurt someone you cared about besides." _That was very sweet, but could you please stop talking about the greyscale? You've mentioned it like ten times…_

"Actually –"

"What I meant was that I…umm…I wish you could stay at White Harbor longer."

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"It's just that it gets really lonely here. I get really worried about my brother and sisters. I don't know if they're alive and if I can't save them then I'll have no one left. I can't do this all by myself; I want…I…I need who can make being a King less scary."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, Arya would probably say I'm being stupid like Sansa, but it's not the same. She'd probably make fun of me too," grumbled Rickon.

"What? Why?"

"Umm…no reason. I just meant that I feel safe right now. I…I wish you didn't have to leave today because when you do, I'll probably feel scared and lonely again. I mean, I'm not –"

"It's okay to be afraid of things sometimes, Rickon. Or at least…I think it is; I get scared too sometimes."

"But if I'm afraid then it means I'm a craven…and everyone hates cravens."

"You're not a craven, silly."

"HEY! I'm not silly!"

"That wasn't what I meant," sighed the young Queen. "You're not a craven if you are afraid of something as long as you still do your duty. Cravens are people who don't do what they have to because they're afraid. I think you're probably very brave."

"WOW! You do? I mean…umm…thanks, I guess. I wish this happened more often."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, for some reason my tummy feels really weird right now, but not in a bad way."

"Wait…are you saying that I make you want to throw up?"

"No, I feel really safe right now and that's a big deal…for me, at least. It…umm…doesn't matter or anything, but have they betrothed you some stupid Southron Lord yet? He's probably some dumb walnut-head, but I just –"

"I'm the one true Queen of Westeros, so people can't just force me to marry someone if I don't want to and no one would even want to marry me anyway if I weren't Queen besides."

"That's not true!"

"Who would?"

"Umm…I don't know…I mean…someone would, most like."

"Rickon –"

"It doesn't make any sense though! I mean, I obviously don't want to do any of the yucky things from those dumb songs Sansa used to always go on about like kissing. That's just gross! Everyone knows that's how you catch girl germs and I don't even know why anyone would ever want to touch the place where another person puts their food. I just wish you could stay here at least a little longer. I really like talking to you."

"What do you mean? You're confusing me again."

"I don't know, but I'll be really sad when you leave. I get really angry most of the time, but right now I feel like maybe…maybe I could still be happy...somehow. And you're really smart, friendly, pretty, and...wait a minute…SEVEN HELLS, DID I JUST SAY THAT," gasped Rickon. In truth, Shireen didn't really hear the last part; instead, she almost instinctively raced over to the King in The North and hugged him as tightly as she could with her tiny arms. Suddenly, the young Queen realized what she had done and backed away as fast as her legs would carry her. _Rickon won't understand! He hasn't looked in the flames like I did..._

"I…umm…I'm really sorry, Rickon. I just…umm…Rickon? Rickon? Riiiiiickoooooon? Why are you just standing there? At least blink or say something! Hellooooooooo?" The King in The North was wearing a blank stare which would've made him look like some sort of wide-eyed fish that had entered a state of shock even if his mouth weren't hanging wide open. _Is he okay? Did…did I break him somehow? What's wrong with him?_ "Are…are you alright?"

"What? What's going…oh…ummm…me? I'm fine. That just…that felt really, really weird."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"It's okay, let's just…umm…can we not tell anyone about this ever? I mean…if you ever want to do that again when no one else is around, it actually felt really good…or at least, I think it did. I feel really strange right now for some reason. Not…not that I liked it or anything, I just meant if…if you wanted to then maybe –"

"That's okay. What's wrong? You look really sad."

"No, I'm not sad at all. I'm actually really happy that you'll probably never do that to me ever again. And hugging is for little kids besides."

"I'm really sorry about that, Rickon."

"I mean, it wasn't that bad. It just surprised me and…are you sure you don't want to do that again?"

"Wait…do you want me to hug you again?"

"I…NO! We should probably just go back to the stupid Merman's Court anyway," grumbled Rickon as he stormed out of Lord Manderly's solar. _What just happened? Why does Rickon keep changing his mind whenever he says something nice? I'm so confused…_


	47. Shitmouth I and Bran VII

**Shitmouth**

*ARRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOO* *AAAAARRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOO*. *AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO*

"Bloody wolves," snarled Shitmouth, spitting at the ground. _How the fuck is it that I always end up drawin' the shortest straw whenever somethin' unpleasant needs doin'? The Stillwood shit never drew guard duty. That insufferable cunt Polliver never had to help Benedict look fer fuckin' wolves to kill so everyone else could get a decent night's sleep at some poor dead man's house. Poor bloke, they didn't have to be so bloody hard on him and his lil' girl. There wasn't nothin' to be gained from drawin' it out like that just because Polliver, Eggon, and Joss Shithead felt like bein' just as big a bunch of cunts today as they've always been. Course, it's still safer with that sorry lot than it'd be on my own… I really do hate some of those cunts though. There was no cause for Joss and Eggon to rape that poor girl before killin' her. 'Course Eggon had the energy to rape and murder an innocent child, but not enough to help look for Dunsen. The dumb fuck has been missing for an hour now. Seven Hells, what the fuck is wrong with Stillshit and Eggon anyway? Men have needs, but the bloody girl wasn't even old enough to have bled yet, most like. Far too young if you ask me…not that any of them ever would. Seven Hells, how did I end up with such a sick bunch of bastards?_

 _Mayhaps The Seven is punishin' me for desertin' with the rest of them survivors after those Godless swine from Horn Hill massacred Lord Tywin and most of his army at the Red Wedding. A lot of the fools went their own way, but those of us who served with Ser knew better. Strength in numbers, I always say. Polliver was right about one thing: The Riverlands was the safest place to live for bandits plunderin' the countryside…not that we was the only ones what figured that out. But why couldn't I have been with a group a blokes who wasn't quite so cruel? Yes, it has to have been the work of The Seven. Spiteful bastards! The Seven certainly punish men for violatin' their laws, how else could Horn Hill be destroyed by Dragonfire rainin' down from the skies? The Seven had a hand in that, I'll wager. Never thought much of the buggers, but when somethin' like that happens…well…how can you keep pretendin' that they isn't real. Why do I keep seenin' that fuckin' dead girl's body? We never ate her bloody father's bread and salt. It wasn't even offered. And it wasn't me what killed her besides. I never violated no laws of no bloody Gods and men. I even gave the poor blokes at Harrenhal an extra bit of bread whenever they asked for it. No one can say I did a bad thing to no prisoner unless ordered and if a soldier is told to help torture a man, what choice is there? Why should I die for some starvin' bloke who is gonna get killed no matter what I do? I killed plenty of prisoners what probably didn't deserve it 'cause I was ordered to, but it never made me lose any sleep before. Why do I keep seein' that poor lil' dead girl lyin' there all bloody on account of Eggon cuttin' her throat once he was through with her? It…it wasn't my fault! Let her bloody memory haunt Eggon and Joss Stillwood. Them was the fuckers who took her, not me; I only watched! Leave me alone, you bloody cunt!_

 _Shit, if it was up to me, we'd wouldn't have even killed the bloody child or her father; we'd just have kicked 'em out of their home and sent them to roam the woods on their own. No need to kill folks what couldn't even do us any harm if they tried. Not the girl, that much is certain. And how dangerous could a lil' kid possibly be besides? You hear that, ya' dumb bitch? I never wanted to hurt you or yer father, so send yer bloody memory to haunt some other poor bastard what actually done you wrong._

 _I suppose the father was one thing, but you don't see children killin' Lords in their bed, much less soldiers. Bloody child didn't even know to be afraid of men in Lannister crimson like her father was, poor kid. And of course, Benedict wanted to go to work on the father because he could've been part of the Brotherhood Without…umm…well…whatever those cunts is callin' themselves, the two we killed wasn't no part of it, I'd wager. That lot is just supposed to be a bunch of Stark deserters, not a real threat. We only even told the prisoners we was lookin' for information about the Brotherhood in the first place because Ser said we needed to clear out prisoners and Benedict thought it'd be more fun that way. He'd torture a man just to steal some eggs, most like. Even so, Polliver eventually said Lord Tywin happened to tell Ser he wanted the Brotherhood exterminated and orders is orders. Them's both dead now, so why should we care about some findin' bloody Brotherhood what would swat us like flies if we ever crossed paths with it? The war is over for the likes of us, not that the killin' is ever gonna stop in The Riverlands. Poor buggers…_

*AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO* *AAAAARRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO* By now the howling was so loud that the noisy bitches couldn't have been more than a few feet away at most…and yet there was nothing else to indicate the presence of even a single pup, much less a whole bloody pack of wolves. The whole forest seemed to shake as a cool evening breeze swept past the trees, causing an army of leaves to rustle in unison like the march of an invisible army. For just a moment, Shitmouth could've sworn he heard the footsteps of The Stranger drawing ever closer and it took all of his self-restraint not to suggest abandoning Dunsen to his fate…or at least, turning around and resuming the search in the clear light of day.

*AAAAARRRRRROOOOOOO* *AAAAAAAARRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOO*

"SHUT THE FUCK UP! Show yerselves or fuck off and die ya' bloody four-legged bitches," roared Shitmouth as the howls somehow seemed to grow closer and farther away all at once.

"It ain't the wolves ya' should be worried about," grunted Benedict. "At least not those ones…" _I'll never understand why all them dumb cunts what we was keeping prisoner at Harrenhal started callin' Benedict "the Tickler." Of course, I suppose he liked the name well enough._

"What then? The Starks is all dead, so why waste time worryin' about the likes of them? Some say The Boltons is all dead too and that Winterfell will be cursed like Harrenhal until it is returned to the Starks."

"The Brotherhood Without Banners ain't dead."

"The bloody Motherhood Without Manners ain't no danger to the likes of us," snorted Shitmouth. "Nothin' but a bunch a cowards and thieves who probably wouldn't know there arse from a whole in the ground, I'll wager."

"Mayhaps, but I'd sleep much better if we never ran into…what was that?"

"I didn't hear anything. Just the fuckin' night playin' tricks on yer dumb arse, most like." *SNAP* *CRACK*

"It…it was probably just the –"

"It wasn't the wind, you dumb fuck," hissed Benedict. "Someone's followin' us! I suppose we're about to find out if you were right about that bloody Brotherhood. ALRIGHT! SHOW YOURSELVES! WE KNOW YOU'VE BEEN FOLLOWIN' US!" As if in reply, a low growl suddenly came from every direction and an army of wolves slowly emerged from the darkness. Before Shitmouth could even open his mouth to curse his fate, a beast far bigger than any of the other wolves emerged from the darkness. For some reason, the wolf – if it was indeed a wolf and not some gigantic monster that had escaped from the Seven Hells – began to snarl the moment it made eye contact with Benedict. As the monster bore its teeth at the two doomed men, its blood-stained lips seemed to curl upward into a nightmarish grid. _Well…shit…I guess we're about to join Dunsen._

"Doesn't look like there is any behind us," whispered Benedict. "On three, we run backward in different directions. I'll go left –"

"What the fuck kind of plan is that?"

"One. Two. Three." Both men ran and Shitmouth found – much to his surprise – that not a single wolf was following him. Alas, Benedict had not been so lucky…the moment he turned to run, Shitmouth heard a stampede of paws racing across the forest followed by a few brief screams. As he drew closer and closer to the small hut where the rest of his comrades were residing, it seemed that the worst was over. Shitmouth turned around and nearly dropped dead in shock at the sight of an army of wolves quietly creeping toward him. _How the Seven Hells do those fuckers keep doing that without making any noise?_

…

"OPEN THE DOOR! OPEN IT! OPEN THE FOOKING DOOR," screamed Shitmouth. The doomed man took a quick look over his shoulder and when he saw the wolves emerging from the trees his britches turned the color of the soil beneath his boots.

*AAAAAARRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOO* *AAAAARRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOO* *AAAARRRRROOOOOOOO* *AAAAAARRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO*

"HAVE YOU GONE SOFT IN THE HEAD? There are wolves all over the place and they ain't comin' in here. Eggon went out to butcher one of the hogs in the barn and some sort of Hell hound left his head right by where yer standin'," shouted Polliver from the other side of the door. "Bugger me up the arse if I'm gonna die for you and Benedict." Shitmouth looked down and sure enough, there was Eggon's head…or rather most of it. In truth, it looked as though his lower jaw had been ripped out by a bear trap. Although ants had already begun tearing away tiny bits of flesh, the moonlight still shined brightly off the bald dome of the poor bastard's severed head.

Ordinarily, Shitmouth would've unleashed a torrent of obscenities upon his former comrade, but by now the wolves were so close that it hardly seemed to matter anymore. _Bloody Hell, what's the use delayin' things? Might as well get this over with,_ Shitmouth decided, throwing down his sword and slowly approaching the wolf pack.

Shitmouth collapsed to the ground as the massive beast at the head of the pack quickened its pace, snarling and snapping at the doomed man like some sort of savage demon from the darkest depths of the Seven Hells…only to stop dead in its tracks and begin sniffing him. The wolf – if indeed it was a wolf – bore its teeth and then raced past Shitmouth, a seemingly endless army of wolves in tow. The beast hurled itself at the door of the small home where Polliver and Joss Stillwood were hiding with all its might and broke it down instantly.

As wolves began to flood into the doorway and the screams of the men who'd abandoned him to his fate echoed through the night sky, it became plain to Shitmouth that The Seven were passing judgment upon every man who had been stationed at Harrenhal when Ser held the castle. _The Seven are judgin' every man in Westeros, most like. What with their dragons and demon-bear wolf monsters… I suppose that's why that creature's face looked so familiar. The Seven really are everywhere…_

 _I always was kind to the prisoners at Harrenhal; I even gave a second piece of bread to any of 'em what asked me nicely. This is a warnin'; I'm bein' given a second chance by The Seven, most like. Well, bugger me up the arse with a bloody spear if I'm ever gonna give that monster a reason to visit me again. I've had enough of war; I'll find me an honest trade and pray every fuckin' day, I will! Ain't gonna be Shitmouth no more. That man is dead, so there ain't no sense keepin' his name. A man can be called somethin' so much that he forgets he ever had a name of his own. From now on, I'll be known as Rodrik and any man what don't like it can go eat my shit! Always did like the name Rodrik; my mother gave it to me. It's a good name for a good man what won't ever give The Seven any cause to trouble him with their vengeance ever again._

…

 **Bran**

Like most children, Brandon Stark of Winterfell oft rolled his eyes when his mother told him that one seldom truly appreciated what they had until it was gone. And yet, ever since the late King Robert visited Winterfell, it had seemed as though the universe itself were conspiring to drill this lesson into his brain in the cruelest way possible. In truth, there were many days were the crippled child wanted nothing more than to return to the days when the worst tragedy he'd suffered was the loss of his legs.

Once his mother left for King's Landing, Bran soon found that he would've given anything to have her back at Winterfell to fuss over him and embarrass him in front of his siblings by smothering him with maternal love in much the same way that he had never realized before the war how much he enjoyed having his brother Robb at Winterfell. In time, the second youngest child of Ned and Catelyn Stark came appreciate the mere knowledge that his parents were alive; their deaths had taught him that lesson all too well. The Boltons had taught him the value having a safe home and every time someone struck Rickon, it was a cruel reminder of the way in which many young children assume no harm can come to their loved ones while they are around. It was plainly a foolish belief, but it was still a comforting thought…and one Bran oft wished he could make himself believe. By the time Arya was brought to The Dreadfort, Bran found out how much he missed simply being able to tell his kin that he loved them…to say nothing of how much he missed being free of the paralyzing fear that the Bastard of Bolton had used to turn a lonely, crippled little boy's own body into a prison.

The days that followed were no better, to say the least. While Bran was glad his siblings had each escaped from The Dreadfort, he also found that he missed seeing them every day, even if he couldn't interact with them as he did before Reek was born. After he incinerated that accursed temple to human cruelty which had long been the seat of House Bolton, Bran found that he missed his crippled body. Somehow he'd become trapped in the body of a dragon ever since his actual body went up in flames along with the rest of The Dreadfort. And so it was that Brandon Stark of Winterfell found himself missing something he'd fought night and day to rid himself of: Reek.

Reek was many things, but in the end he was only a voice in your head. You could fight Reek and even if you lost, he was still an identity. In truth, there were plenty of time when you could trick or reason with him. Ever since Bran became a dragon, he'd begun losing pieces of himself and it was plain that the day would come when his consciousness ceased to exist. You couldn't fight silent voice that wordlessly whispered for you to indiscriminately burn anything that moved to a crisp and feast upon its flesh. There was no reasoning with the single-minded, overwhelming animal instinct that drove more and more of Bran's actions. At first, the second youngest Starkling had managed to control these new urges and got as far as the Riverlands before it became plain that any further resistance would be futile. The dragon within him had simply grown too strong. In truth, there was only one thing to do: fly to the cities and castles where those who'd wronged House Stark lived and watch as the fiery hand of The Stranger made all men equal.

Mayhaps not all of Iron Islanders were evil, but that was for the Old Gods to decide…or so Bran told himself as he flew towards the Iron Islands, cutting a charred path through The Riverlands like a flaming sword. In truth, there was always a chance that the righteous and the wicked alike would perish, but it was also possible that that Bran would be able to stop once he'd eaten his fill. There was still a small voice in the back of his mind warning him to go North and search for the three-eyed raven, but that didn't seem to matter now. Nothing did…nothing except finding more food.

…

 _Why is Pyke on fire? I just got here and I haven't even burned anything?_ Bran dove down to inspect the wreckage and search for any surviving food that he might be able to scavenge when he noticed two strange-looking foods standing on the top of one of the few castles: an old one and one with an eye-patch. Bran flew toward the foods and opened his mouth to swallow them both whole when the one-eyed one blew some sort of strange horn and began coughing up blood before finally falling over the edge of the castle to his death. The moment that Bran heard the sound that came from the horn, a strange sort of serenity swept over him like a gentle breeze. The next thing Bran new, he had landed next to the old man and was watching his new master struggle to climb up his tail along and onto his bag. Bran no longer had any use for thoughts; his new master would do his thinking for him from now on…the horn had made that much plain. _I will fly gently so that he can hold on._ Once his master's frail hands had a firm grip on two of the spikes on Bran's back, he took off and began slowly flying north to a land beyond The Wall…


	48. Arya XX

**Arya**

It had been more than a fortnight since the Lord of The Eyrie told the Lone Wolf that he'd only saved her from his mother because he needed her alive in order to take revenge on her for slapping him. Ever since that day, Arya had taken even greater care than usual to mind her tongue and forced herself to indulge her cousin's madness so long as it did not involve the spoiled brat's obsession with breastmilk or effect Sansa in any way. The worst part was that Robin behaved just as he always had; he neither acknowledged his cousin's efforts to mollify him nor did he show the slightest hint of anger about having been slapped. The uncertainty was a sort of constant mental torture in its own right and in truth, it was all that The Lone Wolf could think about as she wandered aimlessly through the halls of The Eyrie.

 _I know he's still wroth with me, so why hasn't he tried to do anything yet?_ Suddenly, a chill ran down Arya's spine and she stopped dead in her tracks. _Robin is waiting for me to let my guard down, most like. What would Lord Bolt…no, I don't have to think like him to outsmart Robin…not really. I just…need to use what he taught me is all. Maybe if I keep my guard up long enough, he'll get bored and forget about the slap…maybe._ Arya bit her lip and tried to make herself believe the milk-guzzling monster might just forget the whole thing, but it was no use.

"Hello, cousin Arya," exclaimed a cheerful voice. _I didn't even hear anything. How did he do that?_

"You weren't following me just now…were you?"

"Don't be silly, cousin Arya! I just wanted to tell you about something really funny that happened to…well…actually…no need to rush things. Are you hungry?" The Lord of The Eyrie pinched his left nostril shut, took a deep breath, and blew a thick, dark yellow pool of phlegm into his right hand. "Do you want some? It tastes really good, honest and for truly! And I made it all by myself besides."

"GROSS…I mean…umm…no…no thank you." _What is wrong with you? You know what? I don't even care. It doesn't matter; I just need to figure out a way to make him stop acting so disgusting before I lose my temper again._ _Is it really too much to ask that just once I go somewhere where no one is a madman or a monster. There was no one like Joffrey, Cersei, aunt Lysa, Robin, Littlefinger, the Boltons, Lord Snow, or Walder Frey at Winterfell when mother and father were alive. Well…Theon Turncloak was there, but that was before he betrayed us. At least that bastard didn't try to turn Rickon and him into Reeks too. No matter what Theon Turncloak did, no one deserves to suffer like that…not even Joffrey, Littlefinger, and Theon Turncloak._

 _Maybe if I ignore Robin long enough, he'll get bored and go away…maybe. I just…need to distract myself until he leaves is all. I wonder why Ser Bronn stayed at The Eyrie. Wasn't aunt Lysa supposed to give him some land and a stupid knighthood or something? If I had lands of my own, I'd want to get as far away from this place as possible. Well…I do have lands of my own at Winterfell, but that's different. And they're not even mine besides…not really. Winterfell belongs to Rickon. I hope he's okay…wherever he is; at least he escaped from The Dreadfort and The Boltons will never be able to hurt him ever again. I wish I knew where Lyanna went; it's much easier to stay calm when she's around. At least Robin finally stopped trying to convince me to give her to him, so it would've been safe for her to be here, most like._

"That's strange. Wrong, wrong, wrong," mumbled Robin, frowning as soon as he finished licking his hand clean. _Seven Hells, couldn't you have at least turned around before you did that? Apparently not. Ignoring him isn't going to work, most like._

"Did you want something, Robin?"

"What? Oh, no…not really. I just…had a question for you is all. I also wanted to see if I could make you do one of your silly angry faces by asking you to eat my yellow nose milk, but you just tried to pretend not to think it was gross and said 'no' nicely. I thought I did good, but I must have done bad because you stayed calm and I had to eat it all by myself. I don't know what I did bad though. Maybe you were afraid to get wroth with me…maybe. Anywho, that wasn't what I wanted to ask you about…you not really. I just…had a really important question is all. Hmm…this isn't working either. Now you've got me all confuzzled." _Stop copying the way I talk_ , Arya silently seethed, biting her lip to keep from snapping at the drooling little brat.

"Yes?"

"Do you think it's possible to keep people as pets? Could I train someone to do whatever I want…to be whatever I want?" _WHAT?_ It took all of the Lone Wolf's self-control to remain as calm as still water as a torrent of horrid memories began racing through her mind. They were memories of The Dreadfort…memories of the younger brother whom a sad, lonely little girl couldn't save until she finally failed him one time too many and then he wasn't even her brother anymore…not really.

"No," Arya replied, mayhaps a touch too insistently.

"Are you sure, cousin Arya? You look really pale. Maybe you just forgot…maybe. I'd understand that, especially if you remembered right away and admitted it. I sure hope you weren't lying to me though because I hate anyone who tries to trick me. It means they think they is more smarter than me, but that's a no good, lying lie that only a lying liar who lies would ever say with their stupid lying liar mouth that lies because that's what poop-brained liars do. I'm the most smartest Robin there ever was and that means nobody will ever be more smarter than me. Never! Never! Never! NEVER! So don't ever lie to me, else I'll know…" The Lord of The Vale paused and in the blink of an eye, every trace of the murderous rage – which had covered every inch of the little lord's face a moment ago – was gone and in its place was the cheerful smile of a young, happy child at play. Arya shuddered. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

"I…I'm sorry, Robin. I didn't forget, but didn't lie because I was trying to trick you either. I just…got nervous because this is something I don't like thinking about is all."

"Good job, cousin Arya! If you said you forgot, you'd be lying again and then I'd have to poison your food to teach you to be more gooder. That would've made me sad because then you'd be too dead to even finish answering my question. I hate when people die before answering my questions. Anywho, honesty is always the best policy, cousin Arya. Maybe your dead, dull, and dumb mother wasn't as useless as mother says she was if she teached you that when you were little." _If you say even one more word about my mother…no, I…I have to stay calm, else he might punish me by hurting Sansa somehow._

"Thank you, Robin…I think."

"So what were the funny people pets like?"

"One of the Boltons once tried to do that to someone. I saw it and he…it was…you wouldn't like it. The person just sat around all day and didn't do anything. Can we please talk about something else now?"

"Okay, cousin Arya. That does sound really boring. Too bad, so sad." _Stop looking at me like that; I don't like it!_ The Lord of The Eyrie was looking directly at his cousin with excited, eager eyes which were wider than any the Lone Wolf had ever seen. There was not a shred of malevolence in the tiny monster's dark blue eyes, but that only made things even worse. If Robin looked at you with the wide, innocently ignorant eyes of a child who has just been given his first toy, it always meant that – one way or another – he wanted to play with you. That look could mean he considered you his new best friend and wanted to show you something or share a secret…or it could mean he had decided you were just some thing to be used until it broke or bored him and the moment that happened, he'd find some reason to have his mother throw you out the moon door.

"Was there anything else?"

"I KNEW IT! I knew I was right to save your life! You are so still my bestest big sister cousin friend, yes you are! You gave me really good advice just now because you didn't want me to be bored and…and…umm…uhh…and bored. Thanks, cousin Arya! I knew you didn't mean to hitted me and give me a hurtful face punch. I was just an accidental not on purpose mistake, most like. I was going to just let you be always afraid of everything I did and then have mother make you fly as my present to cousin Sansa at her nameday feast to punish you for face hitting me with your hand because it hurt lots and lots, but now I don't have to because you did good. That means we can still be friends as long as it never happens again and you don't ever be mean to me by saying I'm stupid."

"Umm…thanks. I…I'm glad we can still be friends and that you…err…don't want to kill me any…wait a minute…you said you saved my life because you wanted to –"

"You're so silly, cousin Arya. I meant the time I saved your life today."

"What are you talking about?"

"I saved your life today. I saw father pour something into a goblet by that one of the servants was supposed to give you tonight, but I took it and gave it to your stupid lazy doggy for drinking instead. He died in his sleep a few minutes later and I tossed the body out a window because only living things get to be made fly out of the moon door. Stupid dog, going around on three legs like a dumb little freak dog and sleeping on MY floor without permission. I hated him and his stupid poopy-face! He didn't like me and I hate anyone what doesn't like me!"

"Lyanna is…dead?" _If Sansa didn't need me around to protect her from Littlefinger, I'd make you fly._ The Lone Wolf could feel her fingernails digging into her palms as both of her hands slowly curled into tightly clenched fists. _Wait a minute…Littlefinger just tried to have me killed and make it look like I died in my sleep. That didn't work, so he'll try something else, most like. I have to find aunt Lysa before Littlefinger has a chance to talk to her, else he'll find a way to convince her to throw me through the moon door._

"I told you that you should have given him to me so that I could order her to be a boy doggy with a more gooder name, but you didn't listen. I told you that you'd be sorry! Don't be sad, cousin Arya. He was a dumb, mean, not at all nice doggy and you're not going to die even though my father was planning to kill you, so you've had a really good day. Father shouldn't have tried to kill my bestest sister cousin friend. I'm the only one who is allowed to do that! That was a very bad thing of him to do and father's starting to get really boring besides. Stupid bird finger man, always thinking he can kill people without anyone noticing. That means he thinks he can fool me because he's smarter than me and nobody is allowed to be smarter than me. NOBODY! Here's how we can get rid of…wait…where are you going, cousin Arya?"

"Sorry, Robin, I…I have to find your mother. I'll talk to you later!"

"Buh-buh-but I wanted to tell you more about how your mean and mangy doggy died. HEY! Come back! You're my bestest sister cousin friend and that means you're supposed to play with me, not run away. And I didn't even get to tell you how to kill –" _Stop following me! No, Robin doesn't matter right now. I might not survive the next time Littlefinger tries to have me killed. I…I have to turn aunt Lysa against him…somehow, else he'll have her kill me for him. It won't be easy, but I have to try_ , Arya decided as she raced off in search of her aunt. _Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

…

Arya found her aunt sitting alone in the High Hall as was her custom whenever she wasn't with her son or husband. The woman was a cold and bitter presence on the best of days, but there was something particularly hateful about the look she was giving her youngest niece at the moment. The Lone Wolf took a deep breath, bit her lip, and cautiously approached her aunt while taking great care to keep her distance from the moon door.

"Aunt Lysa?"

"I have no time for your empty-headed foolishness, yes. Shoo, off with you."

"I wanted to tell you something about my sister and…and…umm…Lord Baelish. I promised to tell you if I saw either of them doing anything…wrong and…and…I saw something…something really bad. I didn't know what to do, but I wanted to tell you right away to show you how grateful I am that you're letting me live in a place as…umm…elegant as The Eyrie." Suddenly, the Lady of The Vale's cruel lips curled upward into a smile and her scowl vanished beneath a thin veneer of civility, but her eyes made it plain that she would think nothing of burying the hatchet of false friendship in the back of her niece's head the moment she had what she wanted. Arya bit her lip. _Even if aunt Lysa has always loved Littlefinger, there has to be a part of her that knows what he is; I bet that deep down she's always hated him for only paying attention to her when he wants something. Turning her against him shouldn't be too hard…not really; I just…have to choose my words carefully so that Sansa doesn't get hurt is all. No matter how much aunt Lysa hates Sansa or loves Littlefinger, she'll believe me because she thinks I'm a half-wit who isn't smart enough to lie. And Robin hates Littlefinger too now, so maybe I could even tell aunt Lysa that he was around when it happened if she asks for some sort of proof…maybe._

"You saw…why didn't you say so, little one? You know that your dear aunt Lysa will always make time for her favorite niece." _You can't be serious._ "Come, come, sweet child. There's no need to keep your distance like that; I don't bite. Poor thing, you're practically shaking. I'm sure you've seen terrible things, but now the Lannisters and Boltons are all gone. They can't hurt you anymore," cooed the Lady of The Vale. _Seven Hells, how stupid do you think I am?_ "Now then, what is it you saw that seems to be troubling you?"

"Umm…I –"

"Go on, out with it," ordered the Lady of The Vale, plainly struggling to contain her impatience. _You really can't it together for more than a few seconds at a time, can you?_

"This…it wasn't Sansa's fault. She didn't want anything to do with Lord Baelish, but he…he kept trying to touch her…only it was wrong. I think he wanted to…he wanted to…force her to do something to him…something only married people are supposed to do. I don't have any proof, but just watch how he acts the next time you see him near Sansa. She always has to keep swatting his hands away because he can't control himself around her. Robin said he saw Lord Baelish trying to do even worse things to Sansa. It's not her fault though, aunt Lysa, I –"

"I understand," Lysa replied in a voice as flat as a wooden board. In truth, the woman sounded as though a part of her had just died. The sadness in the woman's voice was almost enough to make the Lone Wolf regret what she had said. For a few seconds, the Lady of The Vale wasn't a madwoman driven by violent jealousy and paranoid delusions…only a sad, lonely old woman desperately struggling to hold onto that around which her entire world revolved. "I was afraid something like this would happen. I…I wanted so very badly to believe that it wasn't true; I always wanted a daughter and there were times when I really thought that… I really did, but…I always knew deep down." _She doesn't think it's Sansa's fault anymore…does she?_ The Lone Wolf looked for the truth in her aunt's eyes, but it was no use. For once, the madwoman's dark blue eyes shed no light upon thoughts of their owner.

"Then why did –"

"Just like Cat," sighed the Lady of The Vale. "You, girl, go find Petyr and your sister. Tell them I must needs speak with them in the High Hall immediately. You will accompany them, yes. Well? What are you waiting for? GO!"

"Yes, aunt Lysa." _I just need to find Littlefinger and Robin. Nothing good can come from Sansa being in the same room as aunt Lysa right now._ There was a small voice in the back of the Lone Wolf's mind that worried about whether allowing her cousin to help deal with Littlefinger might place her dangerously within his debt, but listening to that voice simply wasn't an option. Not today…


	49. Arya XXI

**Arya**

"Robin, you can finish spitting at the dead mouse later. Please, just come with me to the High Hall," begged Arya upon finding her cousin gazing intently at a dead mouse in the far right corner of his chambers.

"Shhh! You'll scare him away," whispered the Lord of The Eyrie.

"It's already dead!"

"Well, that's your opinion. I think Ser Cheeswick just doesn't feel like breathing right now and if I say he's still alive, then that means he's not allowed to be dead. People can't die unless I give them permission to be dead. Only evil old fart-faces who deserve to die would ever let themselves die without my permission. That's how I know everyone who I make fly got what they deserved. If they weren't dumb poopy-heads who were thinking mean things about me, then they would've survived the fall because I never gave them permission to die."

"How are they supposed to do that?"

"They could always fly back up through the Moon Door if they wanted to prove that they deserved a second chance, but everyone I make fly have turned out to be a bunch of big meanies because they always flew down instead of flying up or all sideways-like the way falcons do."

"People can't…I mean…nevermind. Listen, I need you to –"

"YES! I finally hit the mouse right on his dumb little white head. NOW you have my permission to die, Ser Cheeswick. See, cousin Arya? Ser Cheeswick died when I told him to be dead because he's a good and loyal mouse. That's why I made him a knight before I stepped on him and made his red not-for-drinking body milk go all over the floor. Anyway, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"I…umm…I need you to come with me and help convince your mother that Littlefinger is –"

"That's a dumb plan. Pick a better one," demanded Robin, frowning.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"DO SO! You're going to try to make mother think that my father did something bad. That's a really stupid plan, cousin Arya. It won't work and…HEY! Waaaaaaaait a minute…this is a you problem, isn't it? I'm not your bestest cousin brother friend; you're MY bestest cousin sister friend. That means you should be listening to MY problems; not wasting my mouse-spitting-at time with your boring upsettedness things and…umm…did I do something wrong, cousin Arya? Why didn't you make a silly angry face when I said that?"

"I don't have time for this right now! I need you to –"

"It's because of father, isn't it? Stupid bird man! It was very bad of him to scare my bestest cousin sister friend into not making silly angry faces by trying to kill her without even asking my permission. I bet he thinks I'm too stupid to know what he's doing, but I know, cousin Arya. I know everything that everyone here does and I see everything! Nothing is allowed to happen in The Eyrie without my permission. Not ever! NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! People who try to do things without telling me think they're smart enough to pull a fool over my eyes. But they're not, cousin Arya! I'm the smartest Robin ever and I…I…I'll make anyone who tries to for make themself more smarterer than me fly! What do you think about how I just said that? Was it using enough smart-person speak? Am I using enough big kid words for you now? WELL?"

"I…I know you would only use something other than…umm…smart-person speak if you were doing it on purpose to test someone."

"You're very good at not giving me an excuse to make you fly even when you're being boring. If you said I was using smart-person speak, I'd have made you fly for being a liar who tried to pull a fool over my eyes. If you said I wasn't using smart-person speak, then I'd have made you fly for saying I wasn't being smart. You did really good though, cousin Arya. You didn't answer the question or say anything that wasn't true. You were being a very good cousin sister friend, oh yes you were! It's too bad you said people pets are boring because if they were fun, then I would have given you a doggy treat for doing good." _I am not your stupid dog! Seven Hells, why is it that everywhere I've gone since escaping from King's Landing, there's always been some evil shit who treats me like their stupid pet? First Lord Bolton, then Domeric, and now this drooling little shit! How do these people keep finding me? What did I do to deserve…wait…did Robin just say he was thinking about throwing me out the Moon Door?_ Arya shuddered.

"Umm…thank you, Robin…I think."

"HEY! You weren't making those mouth talking words on purpose at all, were you? Cheating is VERY bad, cousin Arya. I know you were cheating because of how nervous you look and –"

"No, it…it was on purpose. That's not why I'm nervous. It's just…you're so smart that it can sometimes be hard for me to keep up with you," Arya shyly replied. _If…if Robin can fake emotions then I can do it too_ , the Lone Wolf decided, hoping it was true.

"What? That's…really confuzzling, but…hmm…I guess that makes sense. I mean, I am the smartest Robin there ever is or was, so it can't be easy to spend so much time around me. You must feel really stupid lots and lots, but don't feel bad, cousin Arya. You're not stupid…not really; you're just…dumb compared to me is all. Okaaaaaaay, I guess I forgive you for cheating, but I'd make you fly if you didn't do such a good job being my bestest cousin sister friend by always telling me how smart I am. I liked that lots and lots. Then again, you didn't tell me about how tall I am though so maybe I should still…no, no, no, you shouldn't be making a fear face; that's all wrong. Tricking people into having the right feelings is a lot harder than it looks," sighed the Lord of the Eyrie. "No, don't try to change your face now, just…I know you're trying really hard to be a good bestest cousin sister friend, but I think a lot of really deep thoughts and if you can't keep up then don't embarrass yourself trying to come down to my level. Anywho, fear faces are boring and I can see them whenever I want besides. All I have to do is get mother to say that she's going to make someone fly and they'll always make fear faces. I guess the scared faces can be fun when the eyes get all wide and big-like, but it's dumb how people always shout 'no, please, don't' when they beg for mercy. If I was going to have mother show them mercy then why would I have her tell them they were going to be made fly? That doesn't make any sense. People can be really weird sometimes, cousin Arya."

"Umm…riiiiiiight. Listen, I just need you to tell your mother that Littlefinger –"

Good bestest cousin sister friend! I almost forget about father. He's not allowed to think he's smarter than me, cousin Arya. Nobody gets to do that and…and…and if they do, then I'll make them fly AND give them permission to die."

"Seven Hells, are you going to help me or not," groaned the Lone Wolf.

"Even though your plan is really dumb, I'll help you get rid of father, but only because he was being really bad. A better plan would be for me to tell Lord Hunter that I –"

"Thank you, I really appreciate it, but we have to go to the High Hall right now. You can spit at…umm…Ser Cheesewick later. And your mother is already going to be wroth with me for taking so long besides," sighed Arya.

"Fiiiiiiiiine," whined Robin. The Lone Wolf turned around, bit her lip, and began making her way back to the High Hall…one step at a time. _What if aunt Lysa doesn't believe Robin or thinks I'm lying when I say that none of this is Sansa's fault? She'll throw both of us out the Moon Door and…fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Fear cuts deeper than swords._

…

All the color drained from The Lone Wolf's face the moment that she entered the High Hall. The Moon Door was wide open and Littlefinger was the only thing standing between Sansa and the Lady of The Vale. Lysa Arryn's face was twisted with rage like some sort of grotesque gargoyle about to swallow a hapless child whole. Her dark blue eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets and blazed with the sort of savage fury one might expect to see in the pale, blue eyes of an Other. In truth, simply looking at the Lady of The Vale was like coming face-to-face with the personification of madness itself. _She wants to kill Sansa._ _This…this was all my fault. Soon Sansa will be dead because of me and…NO! She's still alive. I…I can still save her. I just have to distract aunt Lysa…somehow._

"There she is," hissed Lysa, racing across the room and grabbing her youngest niece's right arm. By the time Arya had a chance to react, her aunt had already dragged her to the center of the room and flung her onto the ground headfirst. "You, girl; you may speak now!"

"What was…owwww…what was that for," snapped Arya, rubbing her forehead. Sansa cautiously approached to make sure her younger sister was alright, never taking her eyes off of her aunt. For his part, Littlefinger made sure that the Lone Wolf saw the smirk spreading across his greasy face the moment the eldest Starkling's back was turned. _There'd better not be a bruise there when I wake up tomorrow._

"Are you alright? Don't worry about the blood; it's only a small cut."

"What blood? I mean…I'm okay, I just –" _At least Sansa still cares about…wait a minute…that must mean she doesn't know what I said to aunt Lysa yet. Maybe Littlefinger doesn't even know…maybe. Okay, I…I can do this._

"GET AWAY FROM MY WITNESS," screeched the Lady of The Vale. Sansa did as she was bid while taking full advantage of the opportunity to put even more space between herself and the Moon Door.

"Come now, Lysa, this has gone on long enough. You've already given poor Sansa the scare of her life, most like." For once, the Lady of The Vale completely ignored her husband, turning her attention once more to her youngest niece.

"I don't know what vile lies your sister has already poured into your empty head, but I can see that I'm going to have to spell everything out for you as always," sighed the Lady of The Vale. "I always knew Cat would neglect her children's educations until their minds turned to mush, but you really are in a class of your own, yes?"

"HEY! My mother didn't neglect –"

"Poor dear; even now, you can't help but damn yourself with your own mouth. After all, only a fool would think Cat capable of providing her children with a proper education. You seem quite certain that she never neglected your education and therefore, you must be a fool yourself, yes? I realize you were probably the slowest pup in your mother's liter, but do try and keep up, dear. I have been quite understanding about your half-witted nature; why just now I made sure you hit the floor headfirst so that there would be no damage. Your face is quite hideous and you're already so soft of mind that I don't see how a simple blow to the head could possibly make things any worse. Mayhaps it will even knock some sense into you although I have my doubts."

"I'm fine by the way, aunt Lysa. Thanks for asking," the Lone Wolf seethed through firmly clenched teeth.

"No need to thank me, dear; my thoughtfulness is simply the mark of a true lady…not that you would know anything about that. If my kindness seems abnormal, it is only because your mother was a cruel and hateful woman who hid her true nature behind sweet words. Ah, but sweet things may poison a man still. Jon's wine was –"

"Lysa, if you can't control yourself, then we'll have to discuss this tomorrow once you've had a chance to calm yourself." _Why does Littlefinger care whether or not Jon drank sweet wine? And Jon's at The Wall besides? How would aunt Lysa even know what he's doing in the first place?_ The Lone Wolf wanted to ask what her brother had to do with any of this, but that didn't matter right now…not really. All that mattered was finding the perfect moment to interrupt Lysa Arryn and redirect the madwoman's fury from her dead sister to Littlefinger. _At least she's not talking about Sansa anymore, although I wish aunt Lysa didn't keep looking at her whenever she said mother's name._

"No, Petyr, I…forgive me, but I need…just listen to me this once and I promise that everything will make sense in a moment."

"If we discuss whatever is troubling you right now, will you give me your word that you shall make no further attempt to harm Lady Sansa?"

"But Petyr, don't you see what Cat is –"

"Aunt Lysa, my name is San–"

"Quiet you!"

"I won't ask you again, Lysa."

"Very well, Petyr. I…I won't lay a hand upon her until you have heard what I have to say. You'll understand then; I just…I just have to explain it to you, yes? My Petyr is such a kind and trusting man. A Godly man like him wouldn't hear a bad word about even the most horrid of whores without letting the creature make some feeble attempt to defend herself. Now as I was saying, no matter how hard I tried to sew fancy dresses or how impeccable my manners were, father only had time for his precious little Cat. I remember how she tried to hide the hate in her heart by making a big show of offering to help me improve my sewing…yes, Cat was always clever that way. She…she tried to steal hating her from me by offering false friendship; she couldn't even let me have that much. That's what people like her do, Petyr. They take and take and take until you have nothing left. That's why she's come for you, Petyr; Cat knows that you are all I have left. No one else saw the jealous little brat lurking behind Cat's deceitful smile, but I did! I saw her true face, Petyr! I see it as clearly as I see you, Petyr. No one ever noticed me at Riverrun, but Cat, they ALL noticed her. Everyone always said how perfect SHE was, but no one ever had time for me…no one except my Petyr. Of course, none of you could possibly imagine what it's like to live every day of your life in the shadow of a perfect, wonderful, precious, beloved older sister who always gets everything she wants and can do no wrong in the eyes of everyone else in the family. You can't know what it is to be truly alone in the world…to be nobody's favorite…the one that your family never wanted." _I understand better than you could possibly imagine and I never treated anyone like this. I never hated my sister either…not really. Even when Sansa did things that hurt me, I still loved her. And mother never would've hurt her sister that way on purpose besides. It would've broken her heart if she knew aunt Lysa felt this way. Aunt Lysa, she…she's not like this because of whatever happened to her at Riverrun. This is just…who she really is…who she's always been, most like._ "As for you, girl –"

"My name is Arya," groaned the Lone Wolf.

"Of course it is, dear. I fear we simply cannot trust a person such as yourself to remember such things, yes?" _You can't be serious._ "Now then, when I said that you could speak, I did not mean that I wanted to hear about your problems. No one cares about your name or whether you hurt your head, yes? I meant that I wanted you to tell my Petyr what you told me earlier. Do you understand, girl?" _Seven Hells!_

"I…umm…I think Robin should tell you what he saw first."

"Robin's not here, dear. Was she always this slow, Sansa? Don't open your mouth, Cat; no one asked you!" _Why does she keep calling Sansa 'Cat?' At least Sansa knows not to try and argue with aunt Lysa when she's like this. It's safer if I do it, most like. Wait a minute…did she just say that Robin's not here._ Arya spun around and sure enough, there was no trace of her cousin. _I knew I couldn't trust him. I knew and I did it anyway. I should've known he'd try to get me killed for hitting him and…not today. Not today. Not today. Not today. I…I can still do this; it'll just…be a little bit harder now is all._

"I…umm…I mean…Robin told me that he saw your…err…Petyr trying to…umm…force himself on Sansa while he was drunk." Sansa turned as pale as a ghost and looked as though she were trying to decide if the time was right to bolt for the door. _What? I couldn't have messed up already?_ For his part, Littlefinger offered what was plainly supposed to be an amused smirk, but one needed only to look at his grey-green eyes to see the truth on the two-legged snake's greasy face. _He's already planning my death…_

"What I would give to know why you've seen fit to conjure up such horrid accusations against your own blood," sighed Littlefinger.

"You're not my kin," snapped the Lone Wolf, struggling to keep control of herself as fear and fury spread through her mind like wildfire.

"I am your good-uncle, although I doubt it would make any difference to one such as yourself. I prayed the rumors about your sister were false, Sansa…that there was no truth to the tales about what happened at the Red Wedding. Truly, I did, but I fear…I fear it has become all too plain that she is a kinslayer. Lysa, dear, surely you could not truly believe such a thing of me."

"NO! That…that's not true! It wasn't like that, I swear! Please, Sansa, I –"

"I…I only thought that…the girl is so slow, I never dreamed she was clever enough to lie. But I…I thought mayhaps she saw something and got confused about who started it," sighed the Lady of The Vale.

"Of course you did, my sweet, trusting wife. If you truly love me, Lysa, then you will believe me when I tell you that the girl is lying," replied Littlefinger as he took his wife's right hand and calmly guided her toward the Moon Door.

"Arya is not a kinslayer, aunt Ly–"

"QUIET, CAT! I'll deal with you soon enough," snapped Lysa. Suddenly, just as Littlefinger and Lysa reached the edge of the Moon Door, a strange look came over the Lady of The Vale's face. Arya wanted to run away, but her legs wouldn't budge. Sansa was frozen with fear as well, most like, judging by the lack of footsteps.

"I know," whispered Lysa.

"Know what?"

"I know what you did, Petyr. What you've been doing…"

"There is nothing to know, my love. How can you think that I would ever lie to you? I –"

"That was a lie. You've always loved Cat more than me, don't bother denying it. I'm quite certain that she has oft thrown herself at you like a common whore, but this time…I've seen how you act around Cat…how you grab at her hands. You used to do that at Riverrun, Petyr. I pretended not to see, but I could never forget… Don't worry, Petyr. I…I forgive you. I know you love me…even if you love her more right now. Mayhaps one day…one day you could even love me the same way you've loved her. Oh Petyr, we can finally be together once San…once Cat is gone. She won't come back this time; I won't let her! I've always known we were meant to be together from when you were just a bit of my father's seed discreetly poured into a Vale Lord's wife all the way until the final moment of our lives. Can you feel it approaching? All I have to do is throw Cat through the Moon Door and we'll be together. It's almost time for us to take that final step together. We can even throw the half-wit out the Moon Door first if you'd like…or not, she doesn't really matter. We are all that matters. We share the same blood. The same father. The same…what's wrong? I thought you'd be pleased," sighed the Lady of The Vale.

"I…I don't understand," blurted Sansa as the Lady of The Vale's words stopped her uncle dead in his tracks. For her part, Arya found herself unable to even pick her jaw up off the floor, much actually fully process what she'd just heard.

"And what would you know of it, Cat? Father told ME! ME! ME! ME! Father said…he said just as he had to once give up my Petyr after siring him with the wife of some minor lord from The Fingers, I too would have to give up the first boy that my Petyr gave me. He thought telling me that Petyr and I shared the same blood would poison our love, most like. And yet The Seven work in mysterious ways, yes? That was when I finally realized that my Petyr…that we…that we were meant to be together until the end of time. I don't care that you're a bastard, Petyr. I've always known what you really were and you'll always be my trueborn brother, no matter what anyone else says."

"No, Lysa, surely you…you just…you simply misspoke. You don't mean that we are…that…but…but…Cat can't be my sister. And Sansa heard…if…if she thinks…do you have any idea what you've done?"

"Don't worry, Petyr. Of course I know that giving birth to our perfect little Robin would a crime against The Seven if we were brother and sister like those Godless Lannister fiends. My Petyr is such a funny man, yes? We're simply half-siblings. There, you see, Petyr? Everything's perfectly natural. Oh, don't look so surprised, the Targaryens did far worse all the time and no one says anything about those blasphemous heathens."

"Wait a minute…what did you mean 'and Sansa heard?' You…you wouldn't even care if she wasn't here," gasped the Lone Wolf. _Gross. Gross. Gross. Gross. Gross. Gross. Gross. Gross._

"Robin, will be so excited when he learns that his uncle is also his father. Such a lucky little boy my Robin is, yes?" _Robin, he…he already knows. He probably already knew Petyr was really Lord Hoster's bastard._ Arya shuddered.

"I need to think. I…I need to –" As it happened, Littlefinger never had a chance to think about his role in the destruction of his own House, the child he'd fathered with one of his trueborn sisters, his lust for his half-niece, or anything else. In that moment, the Lord Protector of The Vale staggered back in delayed shock, put one foot over the edge of The Moon Door, and fell tumbling down to his death. Whatever men might say about Lord Petyr Baelish in the days following his death – and many men said much and more about him – no man in The Eyrie could say that his fall was not as rapid as his rise.

…

Before she even had a chance to process Littlefinger's death – or any of what had just happened, for that matter – the sound of rapidly accelerating footsteps snapped the Lone Wolf out of her trance-like state and she saw her cousin race past her. _What? No, you're too late. You're only going to make things worse._ The moment Lysa saw her son, the Lord of The Eyrie, stopped dead in his tracks…plainly taking great care to stay just out of his sobbing mother's reach as the Lady of The Vale collapsed to the ground in defeat.

"Don't be sad, mommy. Soon you and uncle Petyr will be together forever and ever. It'll me just like you always wanted!" _Wait a minute, he can't mean…_

"He…he's DEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD! PEEEEEEEEEETYYYYYYYR," wailed Lysa. For all that she hated her aunt, the Lone Wolf suddenly found that she couldn't help pitying the poor woman. In truth, a part of her wished there was something she could have done to spare her aunt the pain of seeing the death of the person whom the Lady of The Vale plainly loved more than anything else in the world. _No one should have to suffer like this…_

"Hmm…the way you cry is really boring. It isn't silly at all. It just makes me feel all sad-like."

"No, Robin, she…she's your mother and –" _He doesn't care. Robin, he…he's not some well-meaning child who happens to be soft of mind. He knows exactly what he's doing…he always does. He really is the smartest person in The Eyrie, most like_ , the Lone Wolf thought to herself with a sigh. _I could try to stop him, but Lysa, she…she doesn't have anything left to live for, so maybe…maybe it's a mercy. And he's probably planned for that besides. The only way to beat him is if Sansa and I catch him completely by surprise while we're in complete control of the situation. It's too risky to try anything right now. I wish Robin would stop dragging it out like this though. He's like a cat playing with a mouse or Lord Bolton playing with…with…_ Arya shuddered.

"I already know that, cousin Sansa. Why is everyone saying so many obvious things today?"

"WHO…WHO ELSE BUT MY…MY PETYR WOULD EVER…WOULD…WOULD…EVER WAAAAAANT MEEEEEEEE. HE'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!" Arya opened her mouth to say…something…anything to calm down the broken woman sitting at the edge of eternity whose entire world had just come crashing down around her, but the words stuck in her throat. Maybe there were no words that could ease the poor woman's pain during the finally moments of her life.

"Good job! Now that is a super-duper hard question, mother. You did really good! I don't know who would want you either though."

"ALOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE!"

"That's what I just said, mother. You're going to die all alone and then you'll be with Petyr forever and ever. Well, except me, maybe…maybe we could still have a happy life together without father. What do you think, mother?"

"PEEEEEEETYYYYYYYR," sobbed the Lady of The Vale.

"Maybe there's still hope for you…maybe. I bet you could calm down enough to talk about other things in a few weeks. If you're lucky, you might even have a better life someday. I'd still be here for you and the pain would eventually go away, most like. Then again, it might be a mercy to –"

"HEEEEEEE'S DEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!"

"I don't know. This is really tough big kid question. What do you think, cousin Arya." The Lone Wolf bit her lip, clenched her teeth near as tightly as she did her fists, and silently looked down at the ground in shame. _I…I'm sorry that I can't save you, aunt Lysa, but I promise that someday I'll make Robin pay for what he's doing to you. I wish…I wish I knew you before your father, Littlefinger, and everyone else did this to you. Even if you were always this way, maybe I could have helped you get better…maybe. I would have noticed you…_

"Arya? Arya? ARYA! Say something! Robin, he…he's asking you what to do. Whatever aunt Lysa is, she doesn't deserve this! It's not her fault and…and Robin doesn't know what he's doing. You can't let him become a kinslayer! He'll be devastated once he realizes what he's done. Robin, if you do this, you'll be cursed for the rest of your life," shouted Sansa. _You really don't get it, do you? Robin made up his mind before he even came in the room; he's just testing us, most like._ _We didn't escape from Littlefinger…not really. We just…traded one monster for another is all._

"I was only trying to be honest earlier, cousin Sansa. I hope I didn't sound mean. Those were only things I heard my father say about mother when no one else was around. I love mother very much and don't want her to be sad. I thought she'd be happy if she could be with Petyr again. I wish there was a way she could be happy with us…maybe…you and cousin Arya could help me make her not be so sad. She could…we could still have a family and we'd all be happy together. Do you think that would work, cousin Sansa? You can decide. Grown up things are really hard and make my head feel all owwy inside."

"Robin, I think that your mother would like that very much. I…I'm sure you don't want to hurt anyone. You probably just…just got confused or…it doesn't matter. Hold on, I…I'll help you pull her away from the Moon Door."

"But…you think mother can still be happy if she stays with us instead of father?"

"PEEEETYYYYYYYYYYYR!"

"I know she can; it just…might take a little while. She loved your…father very much."

"You're right, cousin Sansa. I bet she'll be better than ever after a few years. Mother will be much happier if she stays here with us, most like. Well…anyway, bye, bye, mommy," Robin cheerfully exclaimed as he charged at his mother and shoved her over the edge of the Moon Door with all of his strength. In truth, the poor woman was so broken that she couldn't even muster the will to scream as fell through the sky.

Suddenly, the Lord of The Eyrie spun around and smiled at his two cousins after dashing away from the Moon Door.

"What? What are you looking at," Robin asked his cousins with a chipper grin. "Her food sacks weren't holding much milk anymore ever since she got all old and ugly-like, so I had to make her fly for being bad. If she was good, then she wouldn't run out of special mommy milk yesterday evening. I don't think you'll be bad, cousin Sansa. I just hope it's worth waiting until after our wedding to have your special mommy milk. If it tastes yucky after all that time, that would mean you were very bad. Wait a minute…I know what's wrong! It's mother, isn't it? You're both so silly. I bet you're all confuzzled because my mother couldn't fly even though she's a falcon like me. People can't fly like birds; everyone knows that!" Ch


End file.
